Good Fences Make Good Neighbors
by Impossibility Girl
Summary: Things are going badly for Arthur Kirkland, who has just moved from England to Texas for schooling purposes, until he meets his new neighbor, Alfred, who is currently working as a ranch hand. Then things just start going horribly. AU. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is my first writing in a very long time. It's been a while since I've actually been inspired enough to finish something, let alone post it. I liked the idea so much though, and it kept gnawing at me and gnawing at me until I just had to write it up :) The first chapter is mostly Arthur-centric, but I hope you enjoy anyways.

Pairings and characters: eventual USUK, possibly France/Seychelles (I might put some Franada, depending on how it develops), probably vague mentions of Spamano...Otherwise, lots of characters will be making appearances in the future (such as Japan, Russia, China, Lithuania, etc)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any other products mentioned hereafter. All belong to their respective owners.

Well, here goes!

* * *

Arthur fidgeted in his airplane seat, obviously uncomfortable from sitting for too long. The cabin was too small, too stale, and he had been there for far too long, with too many unfamiliar faces surrounding him. It occurred to him on this flight just how rude people seemed to be, disregarding him, pushing him and mumbling a weak and forced apology whenever they shoved into him.

He was, needless to say, eager to get off of the plane the instant it arrived. So eager, in fact, that he stood up much too swiftly and forgot about the baggage storage above him. He hissed and grabbed his head, muttering a stream of curses to himself before taking a step forward, into the aisle, and straightening himself. Hastily he grabbed his messenger bag and put it over his shoulder, and then had to wait several minutes before he could actually exit. The lines of people slowly shuffled out of the plane as the captain's voice boomed over the speaker, thanking the passengers for flying with air whatever it was (Arthur couldn't be buggered to remember the name of the company his father chose for him to fly with).

Houston airport was huge, and Arthur stopped only for a moment to stare at the scenery. He had to leave soon in order to make sure he met with his chauffer on time. If he didn't he would be stuck at the airport, and when one had a college orientation (more or less just a short introduction to freshmen to give them a week on campus to prepare and get situated) to go to the next day, that could be bad. With a shake of the head, he looked around for some sort of sign to tell him where to go and, when he found one, navigated his way down to the luggage pick-up station. His eyes scanned over the names of the different flights until he eventually found the right conveyor belt.

Ten minutes passed, and Arthur was growing impatient. He folded his arms and tapped his foot, seeing the same piece of generic brown luggage pass him for the fifth time. It was getting a bit worrisome, especially since the source of the suitcases had slowed down in its task of spewing out luggage. A moment before Arthur was about to storm off to the help desk that was available, there was a massive outpour of more cases.

Damn him for choosing such a generic suitcase. He tore through the pile, picking up a wrong suitcase or two before finally finding his genuine leather one with the correct tag that had his initials elegantly hand stitched into it. His father wanted to have it professionally done, but Arthur had insisted upon stitching the pattern on himself, since there was no need to waste money on such things. Not that his father was one to care about wasting money. England mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile at that and he tugged the suitcase behind him by its wheels.

Now he had to take on the daunting task of finding his chauffer in the massive sea of people that were crowding around the doors, consisting of families hugging, businessmen hailing taxi drivers (who also pooled in the area to make a quick buck), and a few personal drivers.

It took several minutes, but he was finally able to locate his driver, who held up a sign reading "Arthur Kirkland"

"Bonjour, young master." The chauffer, whose name was Francis (if the golden pin on his suit was any indication) spoke and held out his hand, "I am Francis Bonnefoy. I have heard much about you from your father. I will be your personal chauffer and I will be taking care of your father's house, maintenance-wise. I must imagine he has mentioned me, non?"

Arthur frowned, but offered the man his hand to be polite. His father had indeed mentioned something about a caretaker (not for Arthur, of course, he was more than old enough and responsible enough to take care of himself—but for the house. His father didn't want his eldest son to have to do any housework or things that could distract him from his schooling) but, bloody hell, what had possessed his father to hire a French man?

Especially since said man was now kissing his hand (and…was that a wink?), instead of shaking it like any normal person would do.

Oh, that was it. Arthur decided right then and there that there were going to be problems if this man were constantly in his house, especially if he didn't set some guidelines. Arthur promptly pulled back his hand and slapped the man's face.

"Listen you frog, I don't know who you think you are, but you will not get away with acting like this. As of right now, I am your superior and you will not do anything I do not approve of. Do I make myself clear?" Okay, that came out a bit haughty and pretentious, but Arthur could hardly bring himself to care.

"Oh, monsieur! Your words, they wound me!" The man placed a hand dramatically over his heart, but seemed no worse for the wear, "Oui, Master Kirkland, je comprends. No touching. But, honnêtement, you are too young to be so prickly. You remind me of your father. Perhaps too much." The blonde Frenchman gave Arthur a light, teasing smile that just made his blood boil.

"I don't believe it is your place to judge my personality." Arthur hissed out, as calmly as he could manage while his fists were clenching and unclenching mindlessly.

Francis waved his hand airily, as if trying to wave away Arthur's anger, "Oui, oui. In any case, Monsieur Kirkalnd, I do believe the car is waiting. Come now, let's go. We'll continue our lovely chat."

With a huff, Arthur followed Francis to the car (A beautiful black Rolls Royce—polished to perfection) that was waiting in the parking lot for the duo. He pushed his luggage in the boot (after a bit of a tiff with Francis, who insisted upon doing it for him—but he damn well wasn't going to let the bastard manhandle his possessions.) and sat in the back seat, carefully shutting the door as not to slam it. The seats were a rich tan color (real leather, of course) and the interior was silver with dark, cherry-wood trimmings. Arthur vaguely remembered the car from his last visit to America—when he was about 5 or 6 years old.

Francis climbed into the front seat and revved the engine. Arthur almost thought he was going to be treated to some peace and quiet, but as soon as they left the parking lot and got on the highway, Francis spoke up and shattered that hope to tiny bits and pieces.

"So, Mon Cheri, how was your flight? Long and boring, I'd presume."

Arthur sighed, "No, no, it was alright. I got a fair amount of reading done, so it wasn't a complete loss." He answered curtly, figuring it was no use trying to ignore the Frenchman (also, that was very rude, and a gentleman never ignored someone's attempt at conversations. He supposed they didn't slap people either, but…)

"Ah, I see. Well, you'll enjoy the mansion then. Quite secluded, it is. It's a bit far from the University though, but I am sure you will make do, non? You don't quite seem like a social butterfly."

That time, Arthur did ignore him.

But he kept talking, not even slightly put off, "But it will be much harder for you to meet some nice lady friends if you're not staying on campus. Oh well, I'm sure they'll follow you home anyways, you are not a bad catch, especially since many women swoon over European accents. You should pluck those monstrous eyebrows, though, monsieur."

The Briton sputtered indignantly and began yelling at Francis, who just smiled and laughed about how his eyebrows looked worse when he was angry.

Eventually, Arthur calmed down and Francis lapsed into a serene silence for a while, focusing on the road now.

"Why Rice University?"

"Pardon?" Arthur spat out, leaning forward a bit.

"Why Rice University and not, say, Cambridge or Oxford? Or even Harvard. Why Rice? Do not get me wrong, it is a lovely school, but I cannot imagine why you'd choose it over the many other choices…"

"Ah." The Englishman leaned back into the seat, looking out the window and contemplating this for a moment.

Ultimately, it was his father's choice where he would be going to school. Arthur had had his say in it—he was actually hoping to go to Dartmouth in quaint New Hampshire. He made his argument well enough, but it wasn't enough. The reasons to go to Rice University were more expansive than those for Dartmouth. Arthur's mother had gone to Rice University on a full scholarship and had graduated as valedictorian, so his family had a good reputation there. Not only that, but his mother donated so much money to the school, he was sure to go for free because of the connection to the higher-ups he had. There was also the fact that his father currently owned a rather expansive vacation mansion that was only a half hour away from the university (and Arthur's father hated dorm rooms. He thought they were filthy, small, and unfitting for his child. Arthur, personally, didn't think he'd mind them so much, but would never actually know, now). He had tried reasoning, but his father would not give in.

So, there Arthur was, on his way to a beautiful school to earn a law degree and he, quite honestly, wanted nothing to do with either of them.

"My father chose it. If you're so curious, ask him," was all Arthur bluntly said before going back to staring out the window. Francis shot him a look of pity through the rearview mirror, understanding Arthur's situation. He knew his father, and he was indeed an intimidating and forceful man.

Franics hummed quietly, though, "Well, whatever the reason, I'm sure you will enjoy the stay. The mansion's in beautiful shape. The porch even looks out over a beautiful ranch that belongs to the neighbors. But, really, if you want to impress the ladies…you should trim those eyebrows of yours. A mansion may not be enough with those things!"

It was then that Arthur remembered that there was an optional window installed between the front and back seat. He promptly pushed the button and watched it roll up, listening with satisfaction as Francis' chuckle disappeared when it shut.

The rest of the car ride would be quiet, whether Francis wanted it to be or not.

oOoOoOoOoOo

A sharp knock on the glass pane jolted Arthur awake. He blinked his eyes a few times, allowing them to adjust to the newfound light. The first thing he saw was Francis turning his head and knocking on the glass that was separating them. Once he saw that Arthur was awake, he turned his head back to the road (they were currently stopped at an intersection and the light had yet to turn green) and signaled back for Arthur to roll down the glass.

He did so begrudgingly, "What is it?" He asked, voice slightly bleary from just waking up. The window slowly went down, but Francis spoke up immediately

"We will be at the mansion in five minutes, Monsieur. I suggest you wake up a bit."

Arthur nodded and shifted to sit in a more upright position. He continued to gaze out the window until he noticed the music coming from the front of the car.

"Bloody hell, are we listening to French music?"

"Oui, desole Monsieur. Is there something else you would prefer?"

Arthur bit back his desire to say that, yes, he would probably prefer anything, but that just wasn't true. The music wasn't half bad, but not quite Arthur's style. He would take it over American pop music any day, as well.

"Once I get settled here I'll make sure to hook up my mp3 player's connector to the car's stereo." He noticed Francis was about to open his mouth, probably to offer to do it himself, but Arthur silenced him, "I can do it myself. I needn't have you messing with my mp3 player. It was fairly expensive."

Francis just shook his head, smiling, and turned into a long, private road. Arthur noticed a tall, iron gate that surrounded the well-tamed lawn of a large house that was off in the distance a ways. After digging around for his suit's inner pocket, Francis pulled out a small switched and flipped it. The doors slowly opened and the car rolled in. The switch was flipped again, and the elaborate iron gate shut itself.

"Now, M Kirkland, we have two switches for those doors. One will be given to you for emergency use, and one will always be with me. Any visitors who wish to come in will have to use the intercom. I will give you the switch and show you how to use the intercom when you get settled in."

Arthur merely hummed in agreement, staring at the large estate that was spread out before him. The building was a large, white, colonial-style estate. There were tall columns that were two stories high and large double doors in the front. The driveway was wide and was in the shape of a circle, an island in the middle that held a beautifully kept garden (with many rosebushes, Arthur noted).

Francis entered the small roundabout, but followed a part of the driveway that led to a three car garage. Even the garage was pristine; the tools all placed perfectly where they belonged and the floor utterly spotless. Arthur had to wonder if it was just for show. He also took note of another vehicle, a perfectly kept MG. It was a beautiful, deep red and had a large bow placed atop the hood. As the engine was cut off, Arthur pushed open the door and immediately went to admire the other car.

"I assume this is the birthday present my father told me would be waiting for me?" Arthur hummed, running his finger along the edge of the car and then peering in at the seats, which had recently been restored.

"Oui. He did tell me, however, that you shouldn't need it too much, and you are supposed to ask me when you want to use it."

"…bloody hell, does he think I'm ten years old or something?" Arthur muttered towards the car, but Francis caught it.

"Non, he is just trying to protect you, I am sure." There was a stretch of silence where Francis could practically feel contempt radiating from Arthur before he spoke once more, "I will not keep you on a tight leash, mon cheri. Do not fret. I trust that you will not do anything destructive. If you do start, however…"

Arthur shook his head, "Trust me, Bonnefoy, I wouldn't do anything destructive if I wanted to. Having to face my father after doing something reckless isn't worth having all of the fun in the world."

"As much as it's not my place, monsieur…I do hope that view of yours changes." Francis said quietly, grabbing the bags from the trunk before Arthur came and swatted him away, insisting to bring it in himself.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Arthur was allowed to choose any bedroom he so wanted, besides the two downstairs, as one was occupied by Francis and the other by a maid he had yet to meet (she was, apparently, still off grocery shopping). Francis' eyes seemed to sparkle when he talked of her and her beauty, and how it radiated

like the sun or some shit like that. He was hardly paying attention and had wandered off while the Frenchman went off on his tangent.

So, Arthur had four rooms to choose from upstairs. Three, really, since he wouldn't dare think of occupying the master bedroom, which was the preferred bedroom of choice for his father.

The first room he entered was very fitting to the house, it was quaint and the walls were a pale pink. There was a queen bed, and the mattress was comfortable enough, and the window overlooked a pond in the back, but on the whole it was far too girly for England's tastes.

The second bedroom was one that immediately piqued his interest. The carpet from the hallway ended in this room and instead became a lovely dark wooden floor. The furnishings were all very Victorian and antique. The bed was, once again, a queen sized bed with a wrap around canopy and a mountain of pillows on it. He smoothed out the comforter and noted that the dark green sheets were satin.

The curtains were green crushed velvet, and were pulled back by a golden tassel. He stared out the window and noted that from here you could see the neighbor's farmland. It was expansive and beautiful, and he noticed there were horses and various farm animals running around. He could vaguely see the outline of someone with a cowboy hat riding a horse and rounding up some cattle.

He also noted that, in a few hours, the view of the sunset would be phenomenal. Clicking his tongue, he drew away from the window and inspected the antique writing desk, the walk-in closet, and the private bathroom that this and the last room were connected to.

He continued through the bathroom into the last room, and noted that this was the room he and his brother had stayed in as children. It had two twin-sized beds on opposite sides of the room and was decorated with a plethora of fairytale characters. The side that had more fairies and elves and unicorns had been his, while the side that focused more on dragons had been his brother's. He smiled fondly at the now-empty toy chest and the various decorations on the shelf. There was a round white object on his old nightstand and Arthur blinked at the object before recognition washed over him. A bit too eagerly, he flipped the light switch and drew the blinds closed. He went to the object and searched for the on switch.

The white thing had been his nightlight as a kid. When you turned it on, it created a small rainbow and Arthur remembered thinking it was just about the coolest thing ever as a child. It wasn't quite as neat as an adult. But he still smiled at it nonetheless, turned it off and tossed it around in his hands a few times before deciding to take it with him back into the green bedroom.

He placed it on his current nightstand and went back to his suitcases, which were still perched at the doorway into the room. He dragged it over to the large bed and plopped it down, watching it deflate the once-puffy down comforter. He unzipped it swiftly and took out the neatly folded clothes by different categories: undergarments, sleepwear, casual pants and shirts, suits/various nice clothes that should be hung up, and shoes.

He organized the first three accordingly in the slim, sturdy dresser and brought the rest to his walk in closet. When he finished putting all of his clothing away, he made his way to another smaller suitcase and pulled out a few ties, a bow tie, and all of his toiletries. Next up were his books ( a rather large collection was downstairs in the house's library, so he had only brought a few of his personal favorites) and his school supplies, which he organized on the desk.

Content that his room was in perfect order, he flopped down on the bed, taking in the fresh scent of the newly dry-cleaned comforters and pillows. He suspected the other maid had been frantically cleaning the house since she knew he would be coming today. He was happy to see that at least one of his "caretakers" seemed competent enough.

After twenty minutes of rest, Arthur jolted out of his half-asleep state and sat up. He gazed out of the window, the sun getting noticeably closer to the horizon line. It was a lovely evening, kind of hot, but not terribly humid, which made the heat bearable at least.

He figured, since he had nothing better to do, it would be a good time to sit outside on the porch and relax with a good book and a cup of fresh-brewed iced tea. So, that is exactly what he did. Francis insisted on brewing him the tea (And Arthur would never admit that it was actually a decent drink) and brought it out to the porch swing where Arthur was currently sitting.

After that, Arthur very politely requested via threat that Francis leave him alone, and the man happily obliged, holding up his hands defensively and walking back into the house.

So England settled into the silence of the evening, watching the beautiful sun plunge downward and downward until he couldn't read without straining his eyes. So he set down the book, and watched the beautiful dusk take over, the sound of crickets and the sight of fireflies dancing in the yard.

"Hey!"

The world seemed set on interrupting his tranquility today, didn't it?

Arthur sunk lower into his seat, closing his eyes and pretending not to hear the voice. He didn't recognize it, so maybe it wasn't directed at him.

"Hey, down here!"

A pause

"Hey, you deaf? Yoohoo!"

And Arthur groaned, rubbing his temples. He opened his eyes and stood up, trying to make out the source of the ruckus. His eyes settled on a figure down by the iron fence that surrounded his yard and separated his land from the neighbor's land. He could make out a ten gallon hat and figured it was the same man he had seen earlier working the fields. So this was a neighbor of his.

"May I help you?" Arthur shot out, squinting at him and walking down the staircase of the porch to get closer to the gate.

"Kind of you to offer, but nah, I don't need nothing. Just wanted to say howdy, since I ain't ever seen you around here before." The still vague figure said, and Arthur could hear the grin in his voice. What really got to Arthur was that…awful accent of his and the atrocious use of grammar.

"Well, you _haven't_ ever seen me around here because I've just moved in." He walked closer, warily inspecting the young man. Arthur could now see he had sandy-blonde hair and (probably, it was still a bit too dark to tell) blue eyes. He was currently wearing a white tank top (there was a leather jacket of some sort he was holding over his shoulder with one hand) with dog-tags around his neck. His tan pants were tucked into black, mud-caked combat boots.

Arthur frowned distastefully as the other man held out a hand through an opening in the gate, "So, howdy. Name's Alfred F. Jones. The F stands for Awesome."

Arthur grabbed his hand and weakly shook it (contrasting the American's strong and firm handshake).

"Awesome begins with an A, git." Arthur stated bluntly.

And the other man laughed heartily, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard, "I know," he reassured once he stopped his boisterous laughter, "but I can never think of something else to say. Fabulous sounds too fruity and Fantastic sounds too much like somethin' you tell a five year old. Plus, it's a conversation starter."

Arthur pursed his lips and contemplated this. Shortly after, he decided that this Alfred fellow was obviously a complete idiot and he would try to leave as soon as possible.

As he was about to speak out some completely absurd excuse to go, Alfred cut him off, "So, what's your name?"

Arthur sighed lightly and spoke in a clipped manner, "Arthur Kirkland."

"Cool! So what part of England are you from, Artie?" Alfred was smiling again, Arthur could see, and the fact that he was talking to him so casually and with an obvious lack of tension, higher respect, or fear threw the Englishman off.

"Please refrain from calling me Artie, my name is Arthur, thank you very much. If you must know, I hail from Portsmouth. It's in Southern England." Again, the sentences were short and clipped, and he hoped that the American would get his point and let him leave.

But, not only was Alfred annoying, he was completely oblivious as well. And he kept on talking, not noticing how Arthur wanted nothing to do with him.

"Well, that sure is neat. Haven't seen too many British people 'round here before. And no one's been in that big old house besides that French guy and the occasional maid for ages. Nice to see someone's using it. Must be annoying." Alfred was now staring at the house curiously, inspecting it as if he'd never seen it before.

"What, pray tell, is annoying?" Arthur bit out

"Well, livin' in it. I'd imagine it's big and lonely. You the only one besides the maids?"

"I have the two maids, yes, but—the rest is none of your business, if you would please refrain from being nosy." It seemed the only way to get through to the man would be via bluntness, as it had seemed to work earlier.

"Oh, am I being nosy?" he laughed again, "Sorry, people tell me I tend to do that at times. Just tell me when I am in the future, I'll be sure to stop."

Now, that certainly was peculiar. He wasn't offended or put off in the slightest. He seemed happy to receive the criticism and took it with open arms, saying he was working on it. That was certainly something new to Arthur. And he really didn't know what to say to that, so he just stuttered out a simple, "of course."

It was then that Francis called out to him from the porch stairs, "Monsieur Kirkland! There you are. Come inside, it is getting dark and I would like you to meet Veronique, the other maid." At this point, Francis reached Arthur and seemed to notice Alfred across the fence, "Oh, allo Alfred. Pleasure to see you again." His voice sounded too strained to Arthur, and he figured the Frenchman didn't think too highly of the American as well.

"You too," Alfred smiled, nonetheless.

"Well, come back in now Monsieur, I will be waiting. I made dessert, if you are interested."

Arthur waved him off and made no effort to hide his snide comment about French cooking. Before turning on his heel, he saw Alfred smile at him one more time before speaking, "Well, it really was nice to meet you. I'll see y'all later, right?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows (this being one of the few times someone had actually…wanted to see him again) and hesitated before giving a weak, "Indeed" of agreement.

That was enough for Alfred, whose smile broke into a large grin before he turned his back to Arthur and clambered his way on to the back of a horse. He gave a small whoop and a squeeze of the stirrups and the horse flew off, taking them both to what Arthur suspected to be a stable in the distance.

Arthur stood staring after the figures had long since disappeared, only another yell from Francis jolting him out of the stupor.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Veronique, mon petite fluer, ici Monsieur Kirkland!" Francis introduced in his usual flowery manner as England walked in through the large French doors that led back inside to the large kitchen area.

A petite girl who was currently washing a pan turned her head towards the doors. She smiled lightly and turned off the tap. After, she grabbed a green and white dish towel to dry her hands off. She was wearing a simple light blue dress with a white apron over it. Her skin was caramel-colored, and her eyes a deep brown. The hairstyle she was sporting, two red bows bringing her wavy black hair into pigtails, gave her a more childish appearance. But, still, Francis hadn't been kidding when he said she was beautiful.

Arthur smiled back at the younger girl who curtsied for him and introduced herself, "It is nice to see you, young Master Kirkland. I apologize for being late with the grocery shopping."

"No need. I imagine you must be dreadfully busy." Arthur sent her another smile before she returned to the sink, finishing up the dishes that were left behind. He went to the counter to inspect the dessert Francis had put out. It was a fresh batch of mini chocolate soufflés, which sat in small, porcelain ramekins. Outwardly, Arthur frowned at the food, but inwardly he was delighted by the sight of the chocolate desserts. He grabbed a fork (after a bit of rummaging, refusing to hear any advice Veronique or Francis gave him on the location of silverware) and stabbed at one of the soufflés, finishing it in a matter of minutes.

When asked, he said it was mediocre at best, but Francis knew that he secretly enjoyed it, if the way he wolfed it down was any indication. Arthur fell into a casual conversation between Veronique, himself, and Francis. He even found himself laughing a few times as Veronique would slap Francis or step on his feet as he tried to make various moves on her.

Who knew watching a Frenchman writhe in pain could be so damn funny?

After a while, Arthur found himself eating an apple he had found in the fruit bowl. They had been silent for a bit, Veronique continuing to clean various parts of the kitchen for a lack of anything better to do. Francis perked up though, as he always seemed to do in silences.

"Ah, Arthur," He was beginning to refer to him with more casual names. Arthur would stop that later, it was too late for him to honestly care right now, "I saw that you met Alfred, non?"

Arthur looked up at Francis from his current position on the couch and swallowed the bit of apple he had been chewing on. "So I have. What of it?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just curious about your thoughts on him…" Francis spoke carefully, not wanting to say something bad about Alfred in case, heaven forbid, Arthur actually had befriended him.

"He's a sodding git. I don't think I've ever met someone so daft before, honestly." Arthur sighed, "but he is very friendly, it seems."

"Oui, he just introduced himself to me out of the blue one day. He is…tres bizarre. But, he is very kind. And quite easy on the eyes, oui?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Is that all you ever think about, frog? And I couldn't tell you—it was far too dark to see him. And I don't quite swing that way."

At this, Francis laughed, "Je comprends, mon cheri, mais, you do not have to be gay to admit that you think another man looks nice. Girls complement one another all the time. Isn't that right, Veronique?" the girl nodded from the stool she was sitting on, "When you get the chance, see him in the daylight. You will understand. He is quite an idiot at times, but…the good-looking ones tend to be."

"And I suppose you're another perfect example of this," Arthur hummed quietly as Francis made another one of his overdramatic reactions and Veronique simply rolled her eyes, letting out a soft chuckle.

Arthur stood and stretched his arms upwards before bringing down his hand to cover a yawn, "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got a terrible case of jetlag, it's getting late, and I'm quite exhausted. Good night, you two." With that, he nodded as the two said good night back to him and he made his way up the winding marble staircase to his new bedroom.

One quick trip to the bathroom and a change of clothes later, Arthur was settling himself down into the bed. After a few minutes, however, he groaned, sat up and stared at the stiff decorative pillows behind him. He swiftly tore them off of the bed, allowing them to fall to the floor for now, until he reached the bigger, softer pillows underneath. Soon, two ridiculously fluffy comforters joined the mass of pillows on the floor.

Happy with his handiwork, Arthur flopped back into the bed and clicked the bedside lamp off. The room was pitch black and silent, and Arthur was quite comfortable now. He curled up on his side, half covered in the satin sheets and closed his eyes.

Something still felt off, being in this old, only slightly familiar house. He remembered not being able to sleep well here at first as a child either; he always had that "this is _not_ my own bed" scenario in new places. But when he was younger, he had always had his brother by his side or his mother down the hall. Now he wasn't even near anyone he was familiar with. No family, new maids, and new neighbors.

Arthur frowned, and chided himself for acting like such a child. He was officially going to college in a week, for goodness sake.

Still, Arthur reached out to his nightstand and pushed a button on the smooth, white object next to him. The room lit up with familiar color instantly, and Arthur smiled faintly as he stared at the rainbow on the wall. He brought his head down to the pillow once more, and soon enough found himself dozing off.

* * *

For anyone who might possibly be confused, Veronique is Seychelles :) And yes, I am well aware that I've referred to Francis as a "maid" several times in this chapter. No, I don't really intend to fix it.

If there are any other questions or concerns, ask me, and I'll be happy to answer to the best of my ability.

Loved it? Thought it was a boring, worthless story? Either way, please review :) They make writers happy!

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hey :) Thanks for the lovely response, it was quite a treat to hear such nice things. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it! A few more characters appear in this chapter, I hope none of you mind. Again, the chapter is a bit Arthur-centric, but there's a bit more of Alfred this time around.

I have a feeling this story is going to go on for a while, since I just can't seem to stop myself from dragging things out...oh well.

Oh, please note that in my last chapter, there were supposed to be dashes separating certain parts of the story. I have no idea why they didn't transfer from my word document when I uploaded them. It doesn't affect the readability of the chapter, it just looks neater and possibly makes a bit more sense if the separators are there. I edited it and fixed it. I am now using "oOoOoOoOoOo" as my separator, since dashes and tildes do not seem to show up?

In any case, I hope you enjoy this, lovelies!

* * *

There were several loud raps on the door before Arthur decided it _wasn't_ a dream and buried his face into his pillow, muttering darkly in his head. The door opened, and a distinctly French voice called out to him and tried to convince him to get up with promises of a delicious breakfast. Arthur, in response, groaned intelligently and threw the nearest object (which just so happened to be a book he had placed on his nightstand) in the suspected direction of Francis. The older man just barely sidestepped the book and frowned at Arthur.

"Monsieur, it is not polite to throw things at people. No matter how tired you are." There was another muffled grunt in reply, and Francis sighed, "Mon cheri, have you forgotten that you need to get up? I would not disturb you otherwise." Arthur turned over on his side and glared at the Frenchman, racking his still sleep-fogged brain for all of the important things he was supposed to do.

"The college orientation, Monsieur."

Francis had never, not once in his life, seen a man fail so miserably trying to get out of bed. Upon hearing the words "college orientation", Arthur's eyes had shot open, and he immediately scrambled to pull the sheets off of himself. This task was mostly successful, except one leg was still covered, and he had tugged too swiftly on it trying to leap out of his bed. The loose sheet he had left on his leg tightened, and the poor Briton fell unceremoniously to the ground, one leg still attached to the bed by the sheet.

It was comical, really, and Francis couldn't help but laugh. Arthur shot him the best glower he could (which, to be honest, wasn't very intimidating, coming from a bed-headed man who had just lost a fight with some _bed sheets_) and immediately set to untangling himself. When he accomplished the task, he stood and dusted himself off, his face slightly red from embarrassment.

"I'll leave you to get dressed. Come downstairs to the kitchen when you want to eat, breakfast is being prepared. I do hope you don't mind crepes." Francis hummed, making his way down the hall and back to his post at the kitchen where Veronique was currently working, intently stirring an orange sauce for said crepes.

"Oh, Veronique, it looks tres magnificent!" Francis smiled, delighted at the sight. He grabbed a nearby spoon and took a bit of the sauce to taste, "Hm, I believe it could use more brandy, non? I do believe that would fit the Englishman's tastes better."

Veronique looked slightly unsure, letting out a protest before Francis lifted his hand to silence her. She huffed and looked as though she wanted to say more, but in the end accepted the idea and gradually stirred a bit more of the amber liquid in. Francis pulled a batter from the refrigerator and heated up the crepe pan. A few batches of expertly flipped crepes later, Arthur made his reappearance. His hair was still damp and mussed up from his shower, but the rest of his outfit (a simple dark green sweater vest over a pristine white shirt with khaki pants) looked the part of a gentleman about to get his first taste of college.

Francis was in the midst of flipping the last crepe and Veronique was finishing up the dining table, placing the fabric napkins down on the fine china plates. Arthur made his way to the table, sitting down at the head and muttering a small thank you to Veronique. He tapped his fingers against the white and blue dishes, waiting in silence for the other two to come join him with the food. The petite girl was carrying a fruit bowl in one hand and a teapot in the other, while Francis had a plate of still warm crepes and a small dish for the orange sauce.

"Bon appetite, Arthur. Do not expect this kind of breakfast every single morning, Monsieur. We are simply spoiling you right now." Francis laughed, placing the foodstuffs on the table and taking his seat. Veronique politely smiled and set the teapot down in front of Arthur, who poured himself a nice cup after a few more minutes of steeping.

The breakfast was mostly uneventful, sparse conversation was exchanged, and Veronique once had to interrupt a potential full-out argument between Francis and Arthur regarding the wonders of English cuisine (Francis had gagged at Arthur's suggestion to possibly treat them to a traditional English breakfast sometime, so they could learn what "real food" tasted like).

"We've got about an hour before we have to leave, so you have a bit of time to relax before you must get your things together." Francis waved Arthur away and out of the kitchen so that he and Veronique could clean the dishes and counters. The Briton happily obliged and made his way out to the wraparound porch, this time taking a seat in a less noticeable corner when he saw Alfred out in the fields from the corner of his eye. He sat back and looked towards the sky.

It was a dreadfully pale blue, and not a single cloud marred it's perfectly smooth surface. Oddly, it only made Arthur miss his old home in England. Contrary to many, he quite enjoyed the weather, as dreary as it was. It was comforting and familiar to him. The dark, overcast skies that always threatened to release their weight and let out a downpour were a constant through his childhood and up until he had left just the other day. Sure, he had travelled occasionally with his family, but there was nothing he looked forward to more than a good, gloomy rain shower from Jolly Old England. It would always cheer him up.

He sighed and folded his arms, deciding that the sky only made him nostalgic. His eyes drifted downward, focusing on the finely trimmed bushes around the houses, and the expansive fields of the neighbor's farm. They finally settled on the figure that was currently playing with a large border collie. He was yelping and hollering, throwing things and rolling around with the animal. It was…peculiar to say the least. Who on Earth would go to so much trouble to entertain a beast that was, he assumed, only valued as a work dog? Not that Arthur didn't like dogs, (he was quite partial to collies, actually) but his experiences with them were mainly through breeders and dog shows his mother took him to. All were very refined and well behaved. He couldn't help but wonder if this was, perhaps, how dogs really ought to be played with.

Now that it was full sunlight, Arthur could see that, well, Francis certainly hadn't been wrong last night. The boy had lighter blonde hair than Arthur originally suspected (that stayed well kept no matter how much he rolled around. That was odd as well), and he wasn't too much of an eyesore. For a man, of course. Arthur supposed women would find him handsome, until they heard him talk, that is. That would most certainly whisk away any potential interest in him. Realizing he was staring, Arthur pulled his gaze away and took to watching the horses grazing towards the back of the fields.

"Y'all like horses?" A voice called after several minutes.

Arthur was startled, to say the least, and he practically jumped out of his chair. His head snapped towards the voice, and saw Alfred standing at the same spot by the fence, smiling a ridiculous-looking grin.

He cleared his throat before standing up and leaning against the porch's railing, not wanting to get close to the American, "Yes, they're lovely creatures. I rode them occasionally with my father back in England."

"I'll bet you ain't ever ridden a horse American style, then?"

Arthur shook his head sharply as a response.

"Then you ain't ever ridden a horse, Artie. I'll have to teach you some time." He smiled again, but this time directed his gaze towards the horses. He was smiling fondly at them, not grinning, Arthur noted.

After a moment, Arthur moved to the staircase of the porch and took a seat there, then piped up, "I do believe the proper term for 'American' style is Western, isn't it? Of course I opted to learn the English style. I do most of my riding in the English countryside, after all. I'll have you know it's an equally respectable technique, if not more so."

And he laughed. Of course he laughed. Smiling and laughing, it was all this git ever seemed to do. But no matter how much he did, how much he repeated the same hearty laugh, it always seemed genuine. Everything about this man just threw Arthur off for some reason. And he didn't quite like it.

"You daft idiot! What on Earth are you laughing about?" Arthur finally snapped out

"You!" He answered so quickly, so honestly, and so…so not affected by Arthur's anger.

The Briton growled lowly and glared at Alfred. He smiled back and went on, "Just the way you talk about stuff. Y'all sound so serious and grumpy. I really hope this ain't how you act when you're at ease, because I'd hate to see you when you're stressed!"

"You're the one who's stressing me out, you daftie. I was perfectly fine, sitting in the chair and having a peaceful look at the scenery, and then you go and break my tranquility. I'd say my anger is justified."

"Calm down, Artie. I was just being friendly, is all." His laughter died into a soft chuckle, "Noticed you were looking at the horses. Figured I might as well offer to let you ride 'em, if you wanted to. It's the neighborly thing to do, wouldn't you say?"

"…I suppose so, yes. And I thank you for the offer, but I don't think I'll be taking you up on it anytime soon." Arthur sighed, calming down a bit. Alfred was right; he was overreacting to the boy's friendly gesture. It was obvious he was too oblivious to have any ability to read the atmosphere. Arthur secretly suspected (for it was rude to outright judge people) it was a severe case of ADHD. It would certainly explain why the boy was brimming with energy and his over-enthusiastic, childish attitude.

"Oh, why's that? Don't wanna take lessons?"

"What? No, it's not that. I haven't the time to go on a leisurely ride. I'll be very busy, come next week, and I will not let anything get in the way of my schooling." He huffed out crossing his arms in a defiant manner, as if he was expecting the American to try and get him to change his mind.

"Oh, so _that's_ why you're here!" was all Arthur heard. He sounded very satisfied, as if he had just placed the last piece of an intricate jigsaw puzzle.

"Pardon?"

"I've been tryin' to figure out why you'd move from England to here. I mean, I'd choose America over any country in a heartbeat, but y'all sound so…proud of your heritage and all, which certainly ain't a bad thing. I just couldn't think why you'd move is all. Figures it'd be for education purposes." Alfred explained, smiling, content with the new knowledge.

Arthur frowned a bit, "Yes, I'd much rather be in England. It is too bloody hot here in the states, especially down South like this. But, I'm to attend Rice University, so—"

"Oh! That's even more awesome! I'm gonna go there next year, too!"

At this, Arthur had to snort and attempt to hide his laughter, "Oh, really? You think you've got what it takes to get into Rice University?"

"Yup." Came the unfaltering response. Arthur bit his lower lip, still chuckling a bit, because…well, Alfred was _serious_.

"I'm guaranteed to get in, they told me so. I've got a high enough weighted GPA, and my counselor said my SAT scores could get me into Harvard if I wanted to. But my heart's been set on Rice since I was a youngin', you know? Ma says I could get in on a good football scholarship, too, but, that's not what I plan to do." Alfred grinned up at Arthur expectantly. He wasn't bragging, and he hadn't admitted any of this in a cocky tone, but rather stated it as simple facts, things he was slightly proud of, but not overbearingly so.

Arthur had to let his jaw fall slack, if only for a moment. He had to allow the gravity of this to sink in. It hit him right now that…not only was Alfred still in _high school_ (For goodness sake, the man looked older than himself), but he…wasn't a complete and total idiot, if he was telling the truth. Which…he couldn't be. There was no way this man was getting SAT scores high enough for Harvard's standards. Arthur shook his head, refusing to believe that.

He looked at the blonde who was sending him a lopsided, goofy grin. The blonde who was covered in dust, dirt, and the occasional grass stain. The blonde who spoke with an awful Southern drawl and couldn't use proper grammar if it came out and slapped the glasses off of his face.

There was just no possible way that there could be any semblance of a scholar beneath that rough, dirty exterior. Arthur wouldn't believe it until he saw it.

After a few moments of silence on Arthur's part, Alfred looked back towards the barn momentarily, and shot his gaze back to Arthur, "Well, I've gotta go. It was nice talkin to you again. I'll make sure to pick up the conversation with you. I promised my Ma I'd help her with the chickens. Seeya, Artie!" He gave a small wave and turned on his heel, speeding off in the other direction.

Arthur simply blinked for a moment, before shaking his head and calling out with a stomp of his foot, "Oi! Don't call me Artie!"

oOoOoOoOoOo

Frowning slightly at the stone building that was stretched before him, Arthur sighed. There was a large crowd of students bustling about, some leaving, but most going into the building's auditorium. A group of gaggling women passed by, and one bumped into him and hastily apologized. He shot her a half-hearted mumble of a response, and she seemed to take it well enough before running back to her friend's side. Most of the young adults were being accompanied by a parent or two, and possibly some younger family, for the day, and Arthur couldn't help but feel dreadfully out of place. He went back to staring at the building, as if looking at it long enough would cause it to crumble and disappear forever. That would certainly be one hell of an excuse to get back to England.

"Yo, come back to Earth, there! You're standing right by the doors and you're in my way, you idiot! Move!" a brash voice sounded behind him. It forced Arthur to snap out of his hopeful stupor and he turned to look at the man who was glaring at him. He was slightly taken aback by the silver hair and the red eyes the young man was sporting, but figured it wasn't the oddest thing he had ever seen.

"Gilbert! Mein gott, get back here. Mother told you not to run ahead like that, don't you ever listen?" A blond haired man followed this Gilbert fellow and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Ludwig, you are _such_ a prude. I was just clearing the way for the awesome me! Some dumbass here isn't recognizing how much I am made of _sheer amazing_, and he won't move. I think he might be mentally ill or-"

Arthur cleared his throat very loudly at this and crossed his arms, "I'll have you know I am perfectly well, and I would much prefer it if you didn't insult me, especially while I am standing right in front of you."

"I apologize on my brother's behalf. Just ignore him, he's not even going to this school," The blonde shoved Gilbert to the side, and held out his hand, "I am Ludwig, I do hope this hasn't damaged any potential respect for one another."

"Not at all. You seem perfectly pleasant. Arthur Kirkland." Arthur took the other man's hand and shook it, smiling politely.

Ludwig nodded sternly, "Well, we're going to get seats in the auditorium now. Please excuse us." With that, he turned to grab his brother, but found himself only grasping at air. He made a small noise of disapproval before looking around.

"Wait a second. I think I know you."

Arthur promptly jumped to the side and snapped his gaze to the albino that was now hovering over his shoulder and inspecting him.

"You're totally that high-handed British dude Francis was telling me about the other night! He said something about having to deal with his boss's son soon when we were out drinking! And Kirkland was totally the name." He beamed, "God, I am so _awesome_ at figuring things out."

There was a slight pause as Arthur stared at Gilbert, who was practically drowning himself in his own ego (and thoroughly enjoying it). Ludwig just chose to facepalm and sigh, obviously used to this behavior. It was these times that Arthur suspected Ludwig must be very grateful for the fact that he didn't look much like his brother.

But, there was still something more that was bothering Arthur, "You know Francis?"

"Yes, that lucky bastard has the pleasure of being in my company quite often. If I couldn't be me (which would be completely _not_ awesome, by the way), I'd totally be him, since it's, like, the closest thing to being me I can think of. Or maybe Antonio, he's—"

"Gilbert." Ludwig finally spoke up, "Be quiet. We're leaving." Gilbert opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off by Ludwig, who sounded very stressed out, "_Now_. Goodbye, Arthur, I'm sorry you had to deal with this."

Being dragged away by the arm, Gilbert took one last look back at Arthur, "Bye, you pompous limey! Make sure to give Francis hell for me! It'll be worth a good laugh at the bar!"

…What on _Earth _was wrong with everyone in America?

Arthur rubbed his temples, heaving a loud sigh. He couldn't catch a break. He just couldn't. If it wasn't an annoying American neighbor or a Frenchman, it was a German albino. At least the other man had seemed relatively normal. But, in any case, Arthur decided right then and there that 'college' was another word for 'revenge'. Some higher power obviously created this entire university, all of the people attending it, France, and even the ranch Alfred lived on to make sure he got his fair share of life's hardships.

And if there was one thing the Kirklands didn't know how to do, it was get through hardships.

You can't really expect that much from a young man who grew up in a family that was mostly secluded from the common people of the world. He wasn't unaware of the world's problems and the things that people had to deal with…he just wasn't used to them. It was a very exasperating new experience for him. But, he figured he had nothing else to do besides press on. So he frowned and pulled open the large door that led to the auditorium, letting waves of loud chatter and cool air wash over him.

Come hell or high water, he would make it, he assured himself.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He was, most certainly, making it. Bored, but making it. He had settled into a free seat in one of the back rows several minutes before the Dean of Students came up to talk. As he made his way up, a silence spread through the crowd of young adults like wildfire. It wasn't a respectful hush, or even a forced one. It was a very uneasy silence, and everyone stared up at the tall, younger man who was standing at the podium.

"Hello, comrades!" His voice boomed out, intimidating but sickly-sweet at the same time. It made Arthur's insides churn slightly, and upon looking around he could see the same unsettled looks on many other faces. "I am your Dean of Students, Ivan Braginski. You may just call me Ivan, though, because we are all friends here at Rice University, yes?" He shot a small smile out at the crowd, as if he was daring anyone to disagree with his previous statement. Of course, no one made any sort of disagreement.

"I want to welcome you all to the lovely school, and I want to wish you all a very extraordinary year. You are all very promising students, and I am sure many of you will exceed your own expectations in our encouraging learning environment." It was about this point where Arthur was only vaguely listening. He had heard these types of speeches before, and they all held the same basic ideas. It wasn't as if most of this applied to him, anyways. It was a guide to campus life, living in dormitories, and an introduction of roommates. He was fairly certain a few other people were going to come up and try to entertain the group for a bit, speaking about various subjects as well.

But, as Arthur was currently residing in a mansion a half hour away from the school, he hardly needed any of the information. Still, he politely feigned interest, while letting his mind drift to other things. Like how on Earth this Braginski fellow became the Dean of Students. He just seemed to terrify anyone who was sitting around him. He supposed it wasn't the first time he had seen someone taking charge via fear rather than respect or love, though.

The folder of handouts that had been given out at the beginning of the orientation was beginning to get filled with odd doodles of fairies, unicorns, and the occasional caricature of someone he had recently met. He was probably most satisfied with his drawing of Francis, who was holding a baguette and sporting a beret and a twirly moustache (So, it was more just a drawing of French stereotypes, honestly). It looked so ridiculous, he had to laugh quietly at it. His next favorite was probably the drawing of Alfred. It hadn't turned out as offensive as Francis', even though that had been his original intention. He noted now that it wasn't much of a caricature, since it turned out too realistic. The only thing mildly offensive that he could pick out from it now was the idiotic grin he was wearing.

A girl sitting next to him leaned over, "Those are totally cute," she sent a sweet, slightly flirtatious smile his way.

"Ah, thank you very much. They're not that good, honest. I never was much of an artist." Arthur smiled back, but only out of politeness. The girl seemed kind, but her posture and direct ways weren't really doing anything for Arthur.

"Better than what I can do. I can barely manage a stick figure."

Humming lightly in agreement, Arthur dropped his eyes back down to his desk. He made a move to go back to drawing, but was stopped.

"So, you're from England?" she asked, elongating the 'o' sound and leaning closer to him.

Arthur moved to equal out the distance, leaning away from her, "No, I'm from—Yes, I'm from England. Kind of you to notice." Arthur stopped his originally scathing remark and quickly tried to make it sound less harsh. He sort of failed, seeing how the girl reacted negatively and muttered something about him being a jerk. Or a smartass. Something along those lines.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to deal with her anymore. Although he was, admittedly, not off to the greatest start with making friends. Not that he particularly desired to be largely accepted into any groups or any other such nonsense—he was here to learn, not to socialize or try and find a girlfriend. Never mind that that was a major part of the college experience. It wasn't the part Arthur was concerned with.

The orientation dragged on with little interruption from anyone else, and Arthur had given up doodling long ago. He now was simply leaning back in his chair, examining the auditorium and catching every other word or so that the speaker said. There was a fairly large amount of diversity within the school, he noted as he looked over the faces of those around him. He even saw Gilbert and Ludwig sitting about ten rows in front of him.

The crowd erupted into an obligatory applause as the speaker stepped down from the podium, and another took their place. They began speaking about roommates and proper etiquette. It was more like basic respect, however. Arthur knew proper etiquette like the back of his hand, and if these people considered, "No making a mess on your roommate's side of the room" a highly important part of being proper, they wouldn't last a moment in a meeting with the Queen. They'd be booted out by the royal guards before they even got a chance to set foot near Buckingham Palace.

Eventually, Arthur watched the last speaker leave the podium, and the students stood to find their respective roommates. They were then supposed to go to their dorm room (the last moving day had been yesterday) and get to know each other and the others on their floor. Then, they were to take a tour of the campus and get to know the grounds. From then on, it was basically free range until Monday, when classes officially started up. There would be parties, more tours, friends meeting up, etc.

None of this, however, applied to Arthur at all. He had come to the initial orientation last September (that was more of a basic outlook on the school rather than a dormitory-life specific orientation) and had already taken several tours. If it wasn't for the raging headache he was getting from the sudden loud noise of a large crowd of excited college students, he might have decided to stay and hit a pub or something, and possibly get to know a few more people. It was always good to have acquaintances, at least.

But, his now pounding head begged him to get away from the auditorium as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed was to be out with a group of rowdy young adults right now. As soon as he was able to shuffle his way out of the auditorium, he flipped open his cell and phoned Francis.

"Allo, monsieur. Requesting my driving services so soon?" A voice finally crackled over the phone after several high-pitched rings.

"Yes, I've gotten a headache from all the noise down here. The orientation was a bore, but a necessary bore I suppose. The Dean of Students was quite adamant about everyone attending, and I've yet to figure out why. Probably something about becoming friends with everyone…" Arthur muttered the last parts darkly before shaking his head clear, "In any case, yes. I would appreciate it if you swung by the building now to pick me up."

"I stayed in town, as you requested, Monsieur. But I…well, let's just say I've got some lovely ladies to say goodbye to. Are you sure you want me to come by? I cannot believe you want to get out so soon after the orientation, do you not wish to socialize at all? …These women will be terribly disappointed that I have to leave so soon, Arthur…"

"Oh, belt up and do your bloody job. You aren't paid to be a womanizer, you French bastard. Get down here this instant." With that, Arthur snapped his phone shut and huffed, taking a seat on a nearby bench, still looking oddly out of place with all of the bustling people. Families were parting, friends were gathering, lovers meeting up…and Arthur sat, alone. He wasn't here to socialize, he reminded himself. He could meet plenty of people in his classes when they started in three days.

So he stared out straight ahead, ignoring the swarms of people and the questioning looks some shot him. When the shining Rolls Royce pulled up, Arthur stood. Quite a lot of people stopped to stare and admire the car, commenting on how antique and valuable it must be.

He never really could get used to the unwanted attention that came with having a personal driver and a very ritzy car. He quickly tugged open the door and drew to the inside, heat rising to his face out of embarrassment. The engine revved, and the crowd dissipated a bit, moving on with the various more important tasks they had to complete. Francis stepped on the gas pedal, and soon enough they were making their way through the city, occasionally being stopped by traffic lights.

"So, Arthur. How was your-" Francis paused, seeing the window between the seats begin to roll up, "Arretez, Monsieur. I will not talk. You really must have quite the headache."

_Not really, _came Arthur's mental reply, but he only nodded in agreement. After sitting on the bench away from the concentrated loud noise, his headache had subsided into more of a dull thud at the back of his skull. It was sort of like a swarm of gnats, it was just enough to be annoying, but not quite enough to pull out the Raid.

But if it made Francis shut up, he would be sure to get headaches more often.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So Artie, how's your headache now?"

"You asked me the same question five minutes ago. What do you think?"

"Dunno."

"…Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?"

" 'Course not. It's Friday. I have an hour before I have to help with riding lessons. Which means I've got at least a half hour to kill 'fore I gotta go set up."

Arthur sighed, taking the open book off his face and squinting as the harsh light filtered in and ferociously attacked his eyes. He sat up from his lying position on the grass and frowned at the man who was smiling back at him. He hadn't seen Alfred when he came out to relax on the porch, so he had assumed he was out or busy. An hour had passed, free of the boy's presence, and Arthur had been very content with that. The evening had cooled down, and he had made his way on to the lawn to lie down and get a nice rest in.

He had been completely Alfred free for almost two hours, and was reveling in the serenity. He really did enjoy the seclusion of the mansion.

But the git had popped out of nowhere again and began talking to him. He had tried to explain the concept of 'shut the bloody hell up, I've got a headache.', but it didn't quite have the same effect on Alfred as it did on Francis, unfortunately.

"Well, if you don't shut your mouth, I do believe I'm going to go inside." Arthur mumbled and flopped back down on his back, hissing in pain as his head made contact with the very solid ground beneath him.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Artie." He could hear the whimsical note in the boy's voice, as he laughed ever so slightly at the Briton who was now clutching the back of his head.

"I said belt up, you git. No wonder you haven't got anything better to do than bother me, you're so bloody annoying no one knows what to do with you. Go get a friend to bother, would you?"

"Hey, I've got friends. I just can't get out until nighttime, y'know? Plus, it's not like you're one to talk, partner. I've seen you sittin' out on the porch there all by your lonesome three times in the past two days." He sounded slightly more defensive now, but Arthur could hardly bring himself to care. He was still grabbing the back of his head and begging it silently to stop aching.

"I just prefer to be alone. I haven't the desire for anyone's company. Unlike a certain someone."

"Just bein' friendly, is all." The American reassured, "if y'all _really_ want me to leave, I'll go. I mean, you don't look so well."

"Oh, so you've noticed? I've only been clutching my head and muttering curses for the past few minutes. You're quite the observant one, aren't you?" Arthur spat out scathingly, rolled over on his side and faced away from Alfred.

"No need to get testy, now," Alfred laughed, and it was one sound that was, most definitely, beginning to grate Arthur's nerves. Not many sounds could do that, so Arthur considered it quite a feat. The only other noise he had found that bothered him that much was the sound of nails being dragged across a chalkboard (which his youngest brother, Peter, had so graciously demonstrated from time to time in order to get a rise out of him.) He figured that certainly said something about Alfred—but in this case, it wasn't really so much the sound of the laugh, but more or less the fact that it _never seemed to stop._

"Listen, I'll be back in a minute, kay?"

Arthur frowned, not really sure why Alfred was seemingly requesting permission to leave. Nonetheless, he muttered in an insincere tone, "Yes, that's quite alright. Ta-ta, goodbye, pleasure seeing you and all that."

He heard the footfalls of the American disappear, and he swore it was the most pleasant sound he had ever heard (in direct contrast to the boy's laugh, of course). He dropped his hands from his head and let the soft breeze of the evening wash over him. The sunlight was directly on his back and warmed him slightly, and it created the perfect conditions for a good nap. It wasn't entirely proper to nap in the middle of the lawn, but Arthur figured that no one was going to see him besides Alfred anyways, and it's not as if he mattered. He sighed contently to himself and tried to fall asleep before Alfred could make his way back.

"Pssst, Artie, you awake?"

"No."

"Then you're quite the sleeptalker."

"I am. Now go away."

"Naw."

At this Arthur sat up, "What, are you just going to watch me sleep then? I could have the police on your case for that, you know. It could be seen as a form of stalking, and that is—what are you wearing?"

Alfred had come back in a completely new attire. He had ditched his t-shirt and camouflage pants for a dark blue long-sleeved casual dress shirt, a brown vest and worn-out blue jeans. He even had a pair of chaps on, and Arthur couldn't imagine those were terribly comfortable. He hooked one gloved thumb under his belt and tipped his hat at Arthur, sending him a playful wink, "Like it?"

Arthur's cheeks turned pink slightly (because the sunlight was now hitting his face directly, he suspected), and he shook his head immediately, "No, absolutely not. You look ridiculous."

"Ridiculously cool, you mean, right?" He smiled, bringing his hat back up and leaning against the iron fence. "I give riding lessons with my Ma, like I said. The youngin's think this is just about the neatest thing ever. They love getting lessons from a real cowboy, it's real cute. I always deal with the younger ones; Ma said they listen to me better."

Pursing his lips, Arthur looked him over a few times. He supposed that could be thrilling for a young child, since he was vaguely aware that cowboys were some kind of iconic Western American hero. It wasn't very different from when he was a young child and would pretend to be a brave dragon-slaying knight on a perilous quest to save the princess. He was fairly certain his father had promised to take him to see a "real" knight in one of England's many castles, and he had been ecstatic. He never had been able to go, though.

"Well, that's… rather charming, actually. It's nice to see that you take good care of your pupils, I mean. It's not common for young men to be very good with children, or have any desire to do so." Arthur mused, his eyes never leaving Alfred's face. His comment received a brighter smile from the man.

"Well, they're just so darling, and the parents really appreciate it. I get to be a genuine hero in their eyes, too, which is always great. The world needs more heroes, y'know? Figure I might as well do my part, no matter how small, for now." He was just absolutely grinning from ear to ear. He sounded far prouder of this than he did when he was talking about schooling, which Arthur found odd.

Arthur simply gazed at Alfred, somewhat unsure of how to respond. He eventually went with a safe response of, "Yes, that's very kind of you."

They sat in silence for at least two minutes after that, Arthur growing uneasy from the alien silence. He'd never experienced this long of a hush near Alfred before, and it had him getting nervous, though he wouldn't have been able to say why, exactly, if he had been asked.

"Say, Artie, if your headache's cleared and all, why don't you come 'round after my lessons and I could teach you how to ride a horse properly?"

The Briton blinked owlishly at Alfred, but slowly shook his head, "No, my headache hasn't gone away yet. I don't think I'll take you up on that offer, really. I haven't the time for it, as I've said. And I don't think my father would take too kindly to the idea of me using my money to pay for riding lessons. Especially since I've already had lessons."

"Well, alrighty then. Just figured I'd be kind and offer again, y'know?" Alfred's smile seemed to falter for a moment, but it could have been Arthur's imagination, "Anyway, I think it's time I go help set up."

"Right then, goodbye." Arthur gave a curt nod and went back to lying down in the grass peacefully. He picked up his book and began reading. He had left his current novel on his nightstand and had taken out a book from the mansion's library. It wasn't so much a book as it was a collection of poems. He had looked over the somewhat minimalistic poetry section of the library (his father never really had been too fond of poetry—he always said it was far too womanly for his tastes. Arthur never understood that and took after his mother's love of the words) and found, much to his discontent, that it contained only American poets. He eventually sifted through the names and decided to read Robert Frost—American, yes, but a lovely poet nonetheless. He had gotten a decent amount of poetry read before he decided to nap instead. Then, of course, the American had come along.

But now, he was free for a while to read to his heart's content. And he did so. Sort of.

After twenty minutes, he found himself sitting up and staring at Alfred, who was currently lifting a smaller boy on to the back of a horse, smiling and telling jokes the whole while. He couldn't hear them, no, but the boy was laughing so he must have said something funny.

He wasn't staring because he particularly liked Alfred in any way, it was just…the boy seemed so very different. The way he moved, the way he spoke, what he talked about…it was all just so new. It was like meeting the exact opposite of everyone he grew up around. His family, his family's friends, his peers at his old boarding school… they were all so refined, absolutely oozing with strained politeness and class. He had grown up with people who would practically take one hundred dollar bills and smoke them in their pipes, just to show that they could. They never talked about heroes or helping children or even anything that was wrong with the world. In their world, nothing was wrong. They were fat and happy, living in their solitude, unconcerned for others.

Arthur knew he was a part of that. If he wanted to, he could lead the rest of his life doing nothing and still have enough money to live in high society. He could give the money to his future children, they could do nothing, and they would live just as well off. It could go on for generations, if he so chose that route.

And, in a way, he was. He wasn't becoming a lawyer out of necessity. He wasn't even really doing it out of desire. He was doing it because, well, it was far better than doing nothing, and it was _allowed. _It was either a lawyer or a doctor, his father had permitted, and Arthur never was too fond of becoming the latter. He was essentially just becoming his father all over again. He had always been vaguely aware of this, but he had always treated it as a normal thing. He was the eldest son—he was expected to take on the family name with refinement, no matter how much he did or didn't want to. It was just the way things were supposed to be.

And for the first time, it kind of, almost, pissed Arthur off.

He hadn't the chance to brood over his thoughts as a charming voice rang out from behind him, "Master Kirkland, are you still feeling ill?"

He was. Just a tad. But when he turned to face Veronique, she looked terribly concerned and Arthur merely shook his head. At that, she gave a sigh of relief and smiled, walking on to the lawn and sitting next to him, a bit of a distance away. Arthur was quite fond of the way Veronique seemed to treat him with such respect, she was very sweet and minded his personal space. For that, he was grateful, as it seemed too many people were set on violating it lately.

"It's a lovely evening." She hummed, looking around at the scenery, "although I prefer it to be warmer. It reminds me more of my home when it's warm."

"Ah," Arthur laughed slightly, "I'd prefer it was raining, personally. That would certainly remind me of home."

"You'd also be soaking wet, and you wouldn't have gotten in a nice chat with the neighbor!" She pointed out casually, casting her gaze towards Alfred. He had left the boy for a moment to talk with an older girl, who seemed to be crying and pointing at the horse. Alfred only smiled down at her and ruffled her hair, trying to calm her down. For the life of him, Arthur couldn't imagine what had upset the girl so much, but he quickly shook his head.

"It wasn't a nice chat, believe me. I was trying to nap. That daft idiot just won't leave me be."

Veronique made a soft, "oh" sound at this and they lapsed into silence. She began playing with the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her, looking slightly nervous. She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it and went back to staring at the ground.

With a huff and a frown (for hesitation annoyed Arthur, he had to admit), Arthur turned to her, "Veronique, if you've something to say, go ahead. I'm not going to bite, for goodness sake."

"Well," Veronique emphasized, pausing for a while and forming the words in her head, "I was just thinking that…if you don't want the neighbor to bother you so much, why wouldn't you go sit on the front part of the porch?"

Oh. Arthur worried his lower lip for a moment, weighing out his responses. He had considered doing that earlier, but he just decided against it. For various reasons, "W-well, you see, the sunlight is much nicer here. And I quite like the view of their farm, it's rather pleasant. You can see more of the garden, as well. Also, the porch swing is rather nice, and we don't have one of those in the front."

Veronique smiled again, light and warm, "If you say so, Master Kirkland. Anyways, the reason I came out here was to tell you your father phoned about a half hour ago, but told me not to interrupt you since I mentioned you had a headache."

"Ah, alright. I will be sure to call him back soon. Thank you, Veronique." Arthur was dreading the conversation, really. He hardly talked to his father in person, he couldn't imagine how an exchange over the phone would go. But he stood nonetheless, Veronique following suit.

"I'll be in soon," Arthur leaned down to pick up the collection of poems that still sat on the ground, "make sure to tell Francis I don't want any French food for dinner."

"Right," there was a twitch of a grin on the girl's face, "Oh, and Master Kirkland?"

"Yes?" Arthur asked nonchalantly, flicking a small ant off of the book he held in his hands.

"There are easier ways to make friends rather than just sitting around and waiting for them to talk to you." The girl giggled and turned on heel, the natural bounce in her gait seemed far more evident now than ever before. Arthur, on the other hand, turned and narrowed his eyes at the retreating figure. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard her correctly; it seemed like too much of a bold thing for such a respectful girl to say. With a bit of difficulty, he shrugged it off and decided not to linger outside like he had been planning. He followed her inside with only a moment's glance backwards at Alfred.

* * *

Well, that's all I've got for you right now. I do hope you enjoyed it. Please keep in mind that I am not a college student, though I have visited campuses and been to a few orientations for my brother...but, anyways, all I'm saying is I am taking some creative liberties with this XD I hope that's okay!

Liked or hated the latest installment, please review! Even if it's just to nitpick at my grammar or correct me :P I'm currently unbeta'd, and I'm not the best editor. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: First off, I sincerely apologize about how long it took me to finish this chapter. I had two vacations back to back and very little time to write, but that's just me coming up with a pathetic excuse. I've been slacking off a bit too, I admit. My apologies.

I really hope you guys like this, I'm a bit nervous about posting this chapter, since I kind of look back on it and go, "Wait...why did I write this?" but I guess it's some good development with Arthur and Alfred and how much he doesn't understand, you know, real life.

It still seems kind of...pointless to me, I don't know.

In any case, thank you all for lovely reviews and all the Fav and Alert lists I've been added to. It's nice to see people appreciate my writing. Thanks!

* * *

Arthur tapped his foot nervously on the ground, listening to the sharp trill of the phone blaring through the speaker of his cell, which was pressed up against his ear. He gripped the phone tighter and instantly straightened his posture when he heard the voice that picked up with a polite and curt greeting.

Arthur responded quickly, "Hello father, it's Arthur."

"Oh, Arthur, hello. I assume Veronique gave you the message that I called, yes?"

Arthur nodded softly, despite the fact that he knew his father couldn't see him, "Yes, she informed me of that much. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He heard the soft crinkle of papers from the other line, but it otherwise remained quiet. Arthur waited patiently for a response, his free hand fiddling ever so slightly with the hem of his sweater vest. It seemed like ages before he heard his father's voice crackle over the speakers.

"I was just calling to check up on you, of course. I see that you've made it there safely. How are you adjusting?"

"I'm doing fairly well. I've moved all of my stuff in and the orientation went well. Francis and Veronique have been treating me nicely, and the mansion is looking absolutely splendid. They've kept it in lovely shape." It was a simple report, direct and precisely what his father wanted to hear. He hadn't the need for any details or petty negative opinions from Arthur. So, Arthur gave it to him in a straightforward manner.

His father hummed softly in agreement, happy to hear this, "It's good to know you and Francis get along, it would be a pain to find another caretaker. I was terribly afraid you might let the fact that he's French bother you." There was a hint of humor in his voice there, Arthur mused. It was a rare thing, hearing a positive emotion in the ring of the man's voice.

At this, Arthur let out a soft and forced chuckle, just to assure his father he got the joke (although, in truth, Arthur wouldn't have even guessed it was a joke, had it come from anyone else). The line went silent once more, and more shuffling could be heard.

"How do you like the college?" He finally asked, voice returning to its usual flat tone, disinterest obvious within it.

"It's lovely," _Liar._ "I think I'm going to do well there,"_ Liar_. "The Dean of students seemed very polite and intelligent," _Liar_. "And I cannot wait until my classes start." _Liar._

Lying was so incredibly easy over the phone, Arthur concluded. He never had been one for lying, as he tended to look away when he was being dishonest.

"That's very good to hear, Arthur."

They were both lying through their teeth, and Arthur knew this. He was fairly certain his father knew this, too. Still, the strained conversation continued, the exchanges growing more and more vague until finally Arthur's father had sighed and said, "This was a lovely chat, Arthur, but I'll let you go now."

Which, of course, translated to something like, "This is dreadfully boring and I've other duties to attend to, so I really must be leaving."

Nonetheless, Arthur agreed and flipped his cell phone shut, letting out a soft breathe before pocketing the device. He was happy to have that over with. He and his father never had been one for light chit-chat, and Arthur was partly convinced that his father had called simply out of parental duty rather than actual concern. That, or his wife had forced him to.

He frowned slightly and walked from the expansive living room and into the kitchen, which currently smelled of French food, which he had distinctly requested _not_ to have. His thoughts were confirmed when he noted the cookbook Veronique had open on the counter was a French one. Veronique was examining the pages carefully, reading and carrying several measuring cups with various ingredients in them. Francis, on the other hand, seemed to be sautéing a few chicken breasts, throwing several different foodstuffs in with it, disregarding any measuring tools.

Arthur groaned to himself, not being particularly hungry, especially not for anything Francis had been cooking.

"I don't think I'll be eating tonight, at least not until later." He announced, placing one hand on the counter and apparently startling Veronique, who nearly dropped one of her measuring cups.

Francis turned around from his position in front of the stove, raising an eyebrow at the Briton, "Oh, oui? Well, you can always heat up the food, though it will not taste as good. Mais, it is your choice, Monsieur. Do as you wish." He turned back to the pan and hastily grabbed for the pepper that was sitting on the counter next to him.

…Arthur wasn't quite sure what to do with himself now. He sighed lightly and resigned himself to going upstairs, as he was determined to not set foot outside, not after what Veronique had said to him. He most certainly did not want to be friends with Alfred, he was far too much of a country hick. He couldn't go around associating with those of his status, it was uncouth, and if his father were to ever find out, he would surely be disowned on the spot.

He sat himself down at his antique writing desk, starting up his laptop (which had gone untouched until this moment) to check on his email.

He never had gotten into technology. While the internet was an endless source of information, it could also be an endless source of nonsense. Arthur never had been interested in that nonsense, and he was eternally confused by the pictures of cats asking for cheeseburgers that seemed to float around cyberspace. Who on Earth actually thought that was quality entertainment?

He shook his head, navigating and responding to several emails he had received, one from his younger brother and the others from various acquaintances he had that were just wondering how America was (most of them really just felt compelled to envy him, which Arthur didn't comprehend. No place on this Earth was better than England).

Soon after that was finished, Arthur sat, staring at his computer's screen. Half of him was hoping it would give him a suggestion for what he should do next.

It didn't, and Arthur let out a frustrated sigh and closed the laptop, looking out his window and seeing that it was nearing sunset.

oOoOoOoOoOo

This was ridiculous.

He shouldn't even be here.

He really should turn around now, go back home, and just pretend he never even showed.

Really, he should—

"Artie?" A voice drifted from the barn, where a still dressed up Alfred came from. He had squinted a moment before recognizing Arthur, who was currently standing by his barn, where the riding lessons had just taken place.

No, he most certainly couldn't turn around, at least not without being questioned either now or later. So, he decided to take it as a gentleman. He cleared his throat loudly and spoke, "Yes, It's me, Arthur."

Alfred knit his eyebrows together, looking Arthur over momentarily, "Uh, well, I hope you ain't here for the riding lessons I offered. I just set all the horses up for the night and put all of the equipment away…I didn't actually expect y'all to come…"

Oh.

Well, that's slightly embarrassing.

There was a silence before Arthur averted his eyes from Alfred's, "Right. Well then, I…It was just sort of a onetime thing, since I haven't got anything better to do tonight. If you've put everything away, then I guess I'll just head back home, since there's no other reason for me to stay." With that, Arthur turned on heel, feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself for actually deciding to go to Alfred's house and take him up on his earlier offer, which he had so adamantly refused. He didn't normally change his mind so quickly, and to just have it result in nothing was more than a little awkward.

"Hey wait, Artie, why don't y'all stay for dinner?"

It took a moment, but Arthur slowed his pace to a full stop and turned, cocking an eyebrow at Alfred, "Excuse me?" he finally spat out.

"Ma's been wanting to meet you, you know? And you came all the way over here, I'd be one bad host if I just made you leave!" Alfred laughed at this, "and I certainly wouldn't wanna deprive you of that famous Southern hospitality." He was now approaching Arthur with a grin.

"No, no, I couldn't impose like that. You weren't expecting company, you can't possibly be prepared-" Arthur was cut off by another loud laugh. He winced slightly.

"Artie, we're_ always_ ready for company! What, you don't think we got an extra chair or plate in that house a' ours?" He seemed so amused, but Arthur had no idea why. He felt so left out around Alfred sometimes, since he was always smiling or laughing, but nothing humorous had happened that Arthur could see.

"Of course, but you can't just invite me into your house like that, not without consulting your family."

"That's just so posh of you, Artie. We don't do things like that here." He mused, patting Arthur roughly on the back (The Briton nearly stumbled forward from the force and sent him a glare. He was, as usual, unaffected), "Anyone who's been invited to the house is part of the family!"

At this, Arthur sputtered and had to protest, "What is this nonsense you're spewing! I am not part of your family, and should not be considered as such! I would merely be a guest, and one never treats outside guests as…as family. That is absolutely absurd. You hardly know me, and your family hasn't even met me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe I'll be making my way home now. I knew I shouldn't have come here, this is ridiculous. _You're_ ridiculous. _This whole country_ is utterly ridiculous!"

Arthur huffed, waiting for some sort of response from the American.

"Come on. I'll show you."

He really hadn't been expecting that sort of response, and it confused him a tad "pardon?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"I'll show you that you're wrong," Alfred smiled lightly, "Not only can you treat guests as family, that's how they_ oughtta_ be treated. Stay for dinner, and you'll see. It's no trouble at all Artie, really. Ma always makes extra food so we have leftovers anyways. C'mon!" he was practically overflowing with excitement now, grasping at Arthur's arm and dragging him towards the house enthusiastically.

Arthur was absolutely appalled by the way Alfred grabbed his arm so carelessly. It was just so uncivilized for near strangers to latch on to someone like that, and Arthur struggled and thrashed his arm away from the man's vice-like grip, "Have you no class?"

"Naw, not really. Never got into bein' fancy and all that," Came the jovial response, unhindered by the fact that Arthur seemed to be put-off by his behavior. He was still following him, and Alfred considered that a victory.

"Well, you most certainly should, it's a lovely life skill—stop trying to grab my arm like that, I can walk on my own accord just fine!" Arthur spluttered, ripping his arm free once again, "Honestly, you're acting like a child."

Alfred laughed, "People tell me that all the time." He seemed rather pleased with himself at this, "Sorry Artie. Just how I am!" he waved one of his hands in a fluid gesture, motioning to himself and smiling proudly. Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes at this.

"You shouldn't sound so very satisfied with being told you're childish—I certainly didn't mean it as a compliment" Alfred just shrugged at this and continued down the narrow dirt pathway that led to his front door.

The house wasn't expansive by any means, and it looked downright miniscule in comparison to the houses England had stayed in. It was a single-story, ranch style building. The roof was low, but the house itself was rather wide. There were large windows set into the wooden paneling, and a warm light emanated from within, along with a bit of muffled chatter and the sound of kitchen utensils clanging.

Alfred pushed the front door open, drawing inside a bit, "Ma! We got company!" he turned and ushered Arthur inside, letting the screen door clamor shut while leaving the solid front door wide open to let in a cool breeze.

"Do we now?" Arthur heard a strong voice come from the kitchen. He could hear a bit of pleasant surprise in her tone, and she made her way out to the foyer, where Alfred was currently struggling with his boots. Apparently the task of removing them was a very difficult one, if the way he was hopping around on one foot and grunting as he tugged on it was any indication.

The woman who showed herself was large, wide-set. Not in an unpleasant way, but in a very sturdy and firm way. She carried herself with her shoulders back and head high, and even though she looked worn out from the day, she still had a grin set on her face, so much so that her eyes were crinkled at the edge.

Well, now Arthur knew where Alfred got it from, at least.

"Hello, Mrs. Jones," Arthur started, politely holding out his hand for her to shake, "I'm terribly sorry for inconveniencing you with my presence, particularly on such short notice."

There was a silence (Well, except for Alfred, who was now warring against his other boot. Honestly, if the things were that much of a bother, he shouldn't be wearing them) before Mrs. Jones laughed and shook Arthur's hand, "Inconvenienced? Not at all, son. I'll make sure Matthew sets up an extra plate, is all. Supper won't be much longer now."

Alfred had finished removing his boots and now made his way out of the foyer to greet his mother, "Ma, this here is Artie—"

"Arthur, actually." He corrected, but his interjection seemed to go ignored.

"He's the new neighbor in that big ol' mansion over there!"

"Oh, my! Well, that is exciting, isn't it? I do hope we can fit your swanky tastes, Artie. We ain't got nothing fancy here, but you're welcome to make yourself at home. Now, I've got to go check on the food—I'm making your favorite, Al!" The woman smiled warmly, looking between the two boys and excusing herself.

Arthur noticed that at his mother's last comment, Alfred's eyes seemed to shine as he did a fist pump in the air, whooping something about how awesome that was that she was, apparently, making hamburgers. It seemed that that was Alfred's favorite food.

Arthur himself wasn't a fan, but there was no way he could say something aloud after so rudely showing up at their house, unannounced. Never mind that he had been forcibly dragged more than half of the way there, he was still a guest and he still had to act accordingly. Arthur was finding it increasingly odd that Mrs. Jones didn't seem to mind at all, but Arthur figured she was probably used to her son's obnoxious behavior. Arthur couldn't believe (or, didn't want to believe) that anyone else could be so overbearingly kind and open with other people. She just learned to accept that he was overly-friendly and far too…too…

Touchy feely.

"Get your—" Arthur composed himself, taking in a breathe. He was still at someone else's house, he couldn't very well start yelling. He continued in a softer tone, and tugged at Alfred's fingers warily, not wanting to make contact with the American any more than he had to, "Get your hands off of my arm, Alfred. I really don't need to be dragged around. I'll have you know, I'm the son of Benjamin Kirkland, and I am to be treated with more respect than…why are you laughing now?"

"Still laughin' at you." He shot a cheeky smile in Arthur's direction, "Come on now, I'll give you the tour a' the house!"

"No, no, that's quite alright." He didn't want to rummage about the house, explore it, or anything. He hardly even wanted to stay for dinner. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to this—he had been dragged by Alfred, yes, but he could have walked away. As they say though, curiosity killed the cat, and Arthur had been, though he'd never admit it, a tad curious about Alfred.

He was kind of interested in learning about his lifestyle, since it differed from his so much. It was new, unique, unusual, and it contradicted everything Arthur had been taught growing up. So naturally, he had just been a little bit curious about how the boy lived. Besides, he supposed it never really hurt to be friendly and polite with your neighbors, if they were tolerable people.

Alfred excitedly ignored Arthur's request to not be given a tour of the house. He started to walk through the closest hallway, ushering for Arthur to follow.

It was either follow Alfred or find the kitchen and stay awkwardly with Alfred's family, who he was very unfamiliar with.

So, Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, following Alfred down the hallway as he pointed in various directions, opening doors and telling little anecdotes of things that had happened here and there. Arthur paid attention politely, though he honestly wasn't very interested in hearing about the time Alfred's cousin had gotten his arm stuck in the washing machine and how Alfred had saved him, because he is, apparently, the hero of the family and always has been.

"Are ya ready, Artie?" Alfred spoke suddenly, turning around to face him, his hand resting on a silver doorknob of a closed door that his back was against.

"And what, pray tell, should I be preparing myself for?" Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. Honestly, the American was quite the actor, hyping up a simple tour of a house.

"The awesome that's my room, a' course!" He beamed, excitedly rocking back and forth from toe to heel, "Well, are ya?"

Arthur frowned, "Quit acting like you are five years old. Open the bleeding door already, I don't think anything you show me is going to blow me away. I've seen many things in my life, lad."

Alfred chuckled lightly, twisting the doorknob and his body in one fluid motion, pushing it open to reveal a relatively small room with a single twin bed in the corner. There was a tall dresser next to the bed, boxes full of comic books and papers and various old action figures shoved into a corner. The room's walls were covered completely in posters of various super heroes, bands, and American flags (so much so that Arthur couldn't even determine the original color of the paintjob). The bedspread was a plain dark blue, but the pillowcases were Superman themed. On his small desk sat an old desktop computer that was covered in stickers. Arthur noted that it also smelled distinctly like…something he had known at some point in time, but had long forgotten. Sort of like fried food and salt…a certain restaurant, maybe. Arthur couldn't quite place the name. If he had ever been there, it was only once or twice in his life.

The room was also considerably clean, which shocked Arthur a tad. A few clothes were strewn about the floor, and the bed wasn't made, but on the whole it was almost at an acceptable level. He had been expecting far worse.

Not that it still didn't look like it belonged to a five year old. Honestly, what nineteen year old had superhero posters plastered over the entirety of their room?

Alfred was smiling, staring at the Briton expectantly. Arthur noticed he was expecting some sort of response and grimaced at the American, "Er…" _It looks awful. It looks terribly mismatched. It smells of American food. It's childish. It's different._ "It suits you."

The bright smile he received told Arthur that his comment had been taken as a compliment. Alfred made his way over to the bed in the corner, flopping down upon it with a content sigh. He seemed rather pleased to relax and lie down, possibly due to the fact that he had been working for a good part of the day.

Arthur stood in the doorway awkwardly, letting his eyes wander around the room. He really didn't want to go any further into the room, and Alfred seemed far too intent on relaxing to invite him in. He probably assumed Arthur was just going to waltz in after him and make himself at home (which would be, of course, ungentlemanly and something Arthur would never even dream of doing).

Just when he was sure America was going fall asleep, he heard a meek voice from the end of the hallway call for Alfred and his "friend" (which Arthur would have to correct if he ever heard himself being referred to as that again) to come to the table for supper.

It was almost impressive how fast the boy moved when food was involved, zipping past Arthur and grabbing his arm as he passed. He was suddenly full of life and babbling again, happy as a clam.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Arthur figured he was suffering from a severe case of culture shock. He had read about it once, and decided it was precisely what he was experiencing while in the Jones household.

The meek boy who had called them to the table was Matthew (known as Mattie in the family), Alfred's twin brother, who apparently had just come back from a summer exchange program in Canada a few days ago. He greeted the boy with a firm handshake and a polite smile. Alfred introduced the pair afterwards, despite the fact that they had introduced themselves already. He slapped Matthew on the back, the blond being forced to step forward from the powerful blow. Arthur winced slightly, and Matthew just rolled his eyes at Alfred.

Mrs. Jones set up the serving platters on the table and finally told the boys to sit so they could all eat a good, hearty meal. Arthur sat politely, taking his paper napkin and placing it on his lap. He looked about the table for his proper silverware, finding the fork to be placed on the wrong side (and oddly, there was only one fork. This was very confusing to Arthur. There were always two forks.)

He observed the family as they all dug into the food, Alfred grabbing the plate of hamburgers and piling three (three!) on to his plate. He absolutely smothered them in ketchup, and Arthur forced himself to look away, lest he lose his appetite and appear impolite for not eating. He waited in silence until the burgers were free and he grimaced, placing one on his plate. He removed the top bun, putting lettuce and tomatoes on before replacing the bun back on.

"Pass the chips, please." Arthur's politely feigned smile twitched as a bright yellow bag was handed to him by Alfred, who tried to grin with his mouth full and say "here you go!"

Was the boy daft? (well, yes, Arthur knew that much) He had requested chips, not crisps. He politely informed Alfred, correcting him. The American made a correction of his own.

"Those are fries, Artie, don't y'all know your food?"

Arthur bit the inside of his mouth, but remained silent. Bloody Americans. He'd teach Alfred to speak properly later, he was not going to yell while he was a guest within someone's house. For now, he simply ignored Alfred and took the plate of fries from his hands, placing a few on his plate.

When everyone had settled the food on their plates, Mrs. Jones stopped Alfred from wolfing down a burger, making sure the whole family said grace before eating. Now, this Arthur was used to. He wasn't very religious himself (he actually took up the position of atheism in secret), but his father was, and they generally said some sort of grace if they ever ate altogether (which was usually only on occasional Sundays or holidays). He could respect Mrs. Jones' wishes, and he bowed his head.

Afterward, Alfred immediately began chatting and eating, his words becoming unrecognizable between the chewing and slurping sounds. Mrs. Jones commented on a few of the things he said, and Matthew piped up once in a while. It was mostly Alfred who spoke.

Arthur pointedly ignored him, grabbing his knife and fork and slowly cutting off a piece of the burger and bringing it to his mouth, remaining silent. He continued in this manner and it took a moment before he realized a hush had settled over the table.

When he looked up, there were three pairs of eyes on him. His own eyes widened slightly as he looked down to examine himself, making sure he was still decent. His shirt was in order, he hadn't spilled anything, he was sure his face was clean…

Mrs. Jones was the first to stop staring and return to a side conversation she had been having with Matthew, trying to pretend she hadn't just been rudely staring at their houseguest. Matthew turned and looked rather ashamed of himself for staring as well, but continued on. Alfred was the only one to keep staring, eyebrows furrowed. Arthur suddenly felt very self conscious.

"Wh…what," Arthur cleared his throat, "May I ask if I've done something wrong?"

"Yeah. Why are y'all eating your hamburger with a fork?" Alfred frowned, looking terribly confused.

"Alfred!" Mrs. Jones scolded softly, "don't be so impolite."

Arthur ignored her (she honestly hadn't the right to scold—she had been staring as well) "…pardon? Food is meant to be eaten with a utensil, usually."

"Not hamburgers!"

"I simply do not wish to get my hands greasy, thank you very much."

Alfred looked like he was going to say something more, but Mrs. Jones must have been giving one hell of a look because he quickly shut up, shoving his burger back into his mouth.

Arthur huffed and continued to cut his food into small pieces. Slowly the conversation bubbled back up and Alfred returned to his usual self (unfortunately). He began talking about something he was planning to do with his friend, Kiku, this weekend. They were going to go try out some sort of new laser tag game, or something equally as childish.

The conversation slowly drifted to Arthur, since he had remained silent throughout most of the dinner. He vaguely spoke about his life in England and what it was like. He fibbed and said he was enjoying America so far when he was asked. It wasn't like he was really going to have to deal with these people very often, anyways. A light lie couldn't hurt.

Eventually, when everyone was finished eating (even Alfred, who ate like a bottomless pit and Arthur was convinced he only stopped because he ran out of food), Mrs. Jones, Matthew, and Alfred began scurrying about the kitchen. They took out scrub brushes, towels, and cleaning products.

They wiped the counters down, cleaned the solid oak table, and…they did the dishes by _hand. _

Arthur wasn't even aware people actually did that anymore. Not even his maids did the dishes by hand, Arthur couldn't believe they didn't have an automatic dishwasher.

When he was handed a rag and was told to help Alfred wipe the table clean, he stared blankly at the frayed fabric in his hands. It was old and currently damp, and Arthur scowled at it, then at Alfred who began pulling and pushing his own rag around the table in sporadic patterns.

He hesitantly made his way to the table, copying Alfred in a neater fashion, unsure of what he was doing. After all, he had never actually…cleaned something before. So many odd, new experiences tonight.

He really, really didn't like it. He needed to get out soon. His curiosity was beyond satisfied, and right now he was honestly not enjoying the unfamiliar and overly friendly atmosphere. As he handed the towel off to Alfred, he began desperately racking his brain for a polite excuse to get back home.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Monsieur Kirkland!" A very loud, very upset voice boomed from the kitchen as Arthur made his way through the front door.

Arthur groaned to himself, taking his shoes off and looking at the figure that emerged from an archway behind the marble staircase. Francis was clad in only his sleeping shorts, and he stopped in the doorway and leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest and his bare foot was tapping against the marble floor expectantly. He was scowling at Arthur in silence, waiting.

Arthur hadn't any idea what he wanted (Well, okay, perhaps he had a small idea) and made an equally angry face back at Francis, "What is it? I haven't got all night, I'm rather tired and—"

"Do not play dumb with me, Monsieur! Where have you been? You did not tell anyone you were leaving! Veronique and I were panicked, we looked all over for you!"

"Just a tick," Arthur frowned and placed his hands on his hips (in a very manly fashion, of course), "the last time I checked I was a grown man, and quite capable of looking after myself."

Francis sighed and put a hand to his forehead. He seemed very annoyed. Arthur was quite amused by this.

"You know very well ton pere does not appreciate it when you sneak off like that. Besides, if you are not careful you could get hurt," Arthur opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Francis merely continued, "Not by your own accord, Monsieur. Ton visage— You have a very recognizable face. You could be kidnapped or—do not give me that look, your father is very rich. It has happened in the past. It is in your best interest to inform me when you go out. For safety reasons only. I will not stop you from going anywhere."

"Right," Arthur gritted his teeth, trying to sound as complaint as possible, "I'll be sure to fill you in on every single detail of my life. Should I make a log of it?"

Wait, that didn't sound very compliant at all. Oops.

Francis shook his head, in a considerably better mood now, "Non, Monsieur. Just keep me informed is all I ask. It is my job, I do not make the rules." He paused, "So…where were you, exactly?"

"…None of your business."

"If you say that, I am going to assume the worst. What was it? Were you doing drugs? Gambling? Drinking? Having a scandalous love affair?" Francis teased, a smile tugging at his lips. The thought of Arthur doing any of those was simply ridiculous.

It was rather funny watching Arthur sputter and fume, though. "I was not doing anything like that, you frog! I was just enjoying a very…interesting…dinner with our neighbors, if you must know. Not particularly by my own will, but..."

"Oh, spending some quality time with Alfred, non?" Francis waggled his eyebrows, leaving Arthur genuinely confused about what he was trying to say, exactly. When he questioned Francis suspiciously, he was waved off and laughed at, told to forget about it. So he did just that, since Arthur was always willing to ignore Francis.

He was about to make his way up the stairs until he felt a hand on his arm for the umpteenth time that night. Instinctively he jerked away, and had to stop himself from turning and scolding the person who had just grabbed him as he realized it was just Francis.

"Just promise me that, in the future, you will tell me when you leave the house. It is all I ask, Monsieur."

"I understand. I'll be sure to do so, Francis." Arthur frowned, looking away and making his way up the stairs silently.

* * *

...If you didn't catch it, the ending was a bit of a throwback to the beginning of the chapter...kudos to you if you got it ;) It was kind of subtle.

Please remember to review, they make us authors very happy :)


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hello lovelies! I am, contrary to what you may believe due to my inability to update on a regular basis, still alive. Again, apologies for the wait. Vacations, homework, parties,general laziness, etc.

I will put a big warning out there, though, I will be taking longer to update now, due to some family/housing issues. Nothing major, but it will be taking up enough of my time, so...yeah.

FFF if you can't tell I don't know much about college classes and the like, so I kind of skimped out on the detail there...not to mention writing about class is just SO BORING to an American teenager like me :P

As always, thank you all so much for the reviews and favorites, I really appreciate it!

Anyways, on with the show, since I know a good lot of you have been waiting :)

* * *

The next few days dragged on for Arthur, who made it a point to avoid going outside on the deck and managed to successfully evade Alfred for all of Saturday and the majority of Sunday. He sat out on the porch Sunday evening with Francis and Veronique, eating a light seafood dish she had prepared alone (Francis had been occupied with doing the laundry and left the task of dinner to her). Arthur's eyes flickered to the fence perhaps too many times, but no Alfred appeared. Just as they finished up, Alfred did manage to show and say a quick howdy to everyone. Aside from that, though, Arthur had gone completely Alfred free.

He didn't mind that at all. Not one bit. He spent his free time exploring the rest of the house, memorizing the layout a bit more. He discovered two bathrooms and an entire basement he hadn't known even existed. There was an expansive living room/entertaining room with a bar built into it that took up the majority of the basement. Down a small hallway, there were several other rooms; a spare guest bedroom and a couple of storage rooms. When explored further, Arthur found there were old cribs and antiques that were either broken and had yet to be fixed or just hadn't a place in any other room.

To Arthur's delight, he unearthed a box of antique tea sets. They were far more beautiful than the relatively plain set that was up in the kitchen. He set out each individual piece, sorting through them and hauling the box up the stairs. He spent the majority of the day finding a place for them and determining where and when they were from. This was, to him, a Saturday well spent.

Sunday was spent in the other storage room in the basement, which contained several boxes of books. He sorted through all of them (He managed to find a few books from his childhood. He'd never admit it, but he read each and every one of the picture books he found, flipping through the pages fondly as he rediscovered lost memories) and after several hours had a large stack of books to bring into the house's library.

Monday, it rained. How fitting. He awoke to the dim, blue light filtering through his window. He was fairly certain a loud clap of thunder had something to do with his rather abrupt awakening, but nonetheless he turned over on his side to face his alarm clock. The bright red numbers stared back at him, reading 9:24 AM.

He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. His first class of the day didn't begin until eleven, so he had more than enough time to get ready. He sighed and flopped back down on to the bed, thinking things over for a moment. He had packed most of his papers, his laptop, and his textbooks in his messenger bag later last night, so he was already prepared in that way. He drifted his head over to the window, staring out at the overcast sky and the raindrops that trickled down the glass, mottling the otherwise clear view. His mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. It was nice to see rain again.

Eventually, he pulled himself from the bed and went to the window, getting a better look at the scenery that was no doubt soaking in every last bit of the storm. He pushed the glass open and allowed the still kind of warm breeze to wash over him. Okay, so it wasn't quite the same. But it was the closest Arthur was going to get, so he breathed the heavy air in.

He made his way to the shower after a bit and then down to the kitchen, where he expected to see Francis and Veronique buzzing about the kitchen as per usual. He was not greeted by this sight, but instead saw Francis simply sweeping the kitchen floor, humming a familiar French tune to himself.

Arthur stared, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't always going to have food prepared for him.

Right.

He could fend for himself, of course (he had always been a fan of cooking, but rarely got a chance to at home. Yes, he had set the oven on fire once, but accidents happen, right?) He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed two eggs, along with some left over fruit salad from last night. He searched a bit, making sure to ignore any hints to the location of the frying pans Francis sent him. He managed to find it on his own and placed it on the burner, cracking the eggs with a bit of difficulty. Francis watched, a bemused little smile playing on his lips before he moved to the dining room to continue sweeping.

Arthur took a few minutes to find the bread and locate the toaster. He placed it in and was about to get back to his eggs when he remembered he needed the orange juice. Then he had to get the jam for his toast. Oh, and a bowl for his fruit salad.

When he finally returned to the frying pan, he frowned at the brown and black patches on the outsides of the egg whites that weren't really so white anymore. Nonetheless, he grabbed a spatula and attempted to flip the eggs. To his dismay, one of the yolks broke and he sighed. He turned back to the toaster only to see a small stream of smoke forming above it.

Under his breath, he cursed and quickly hit the cancel button, pulling the burnt bread from the toaster and trying to scrape off the worst of the burnt marks. He mostly succeeded in getting crumbs all over his plate. With a sigh, he slathered a good amount of jam over the failed toast.

He made his way over to the frying pan and scraped out the blackened eggs, placing them on the plate.

Well, at least the fruit salad looked alright. Even though he hadn't prepared it.

He made his way to the dining room table, where Francis was busily sweeping a bit of dirt into a dust pan. He peered at the breakfast Arthur set out on the table and made a show of gagging.

"Monsieur, no wonder you enjoy our cooking so much…please do not tell me this is how your meals normally turn out…"

Arthur frowned. He always fancied himself a rather good cook. But, Francis was absolutely correct; somehow, every single one of his culinary endeavors inevitably ended up…well, usually burnt. If it wasn't burnt it was too salty or too thick or too _something_. At home, it had gotten to the point where he just wasn't allowed into the kitchen.

Not that Francis needed to know that.

"Of course not! I…" Arthur paused, quickly shoving a piece of the burnt—no, not burnt. It was_ crisped to his liking_; that was all—egg into his mouth to stall. When he thought of a good enough excuse, he swallowed, "I'm just using a new kitchen and new appliances. I'm just not used to it."

Francis merely smiled and shook his head doubtfully, "Well, I would hope so, for our kitchen's sake…"

After that, Arthur was left to enjoy his breakfast in peace and made a nice cup of tea to sip at as he looked over the newspaper, making himself comfortable in the living room arm chair that was placed in front of a currently inactive fireplace.

When Francis informed him he was to leave in five minutes, Arthur was just cleaning up. He hurried up the stairs and put a pair of brown loafers on, slinging his designer messenger bag over his shoulder and double checking to make sure he had everything for his classes.

"Arthur, allons-y! We have to go, Monsieur, or you will be late." Francis appeared, tapping his wrist where, ideally, a wrist watch was supposed to be.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming, Francis." Arthur stopped at a mirror in the hallway and made sure his tie was straight and his hair was relatively neat (It never quite fell in a way he liked, but it looked decent enough). He was ushered out the door into the black Rolls Royce by Francis, who waved goodbye to Veronique, who was dusting, at the last moment.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The first class Arthur had was Political Science 100. Admittedly, not his favorite subject, but as a pre-law student he had to delve into a diverse array of subjects and this just happened to be one of them. He did quite enjoy learning, so he figured it shouldn't be too awful.

Arthur made his way into the large lecture hall, a frown gracing his lips as he made his way to the mostly open seats in the front. He looked over those around him, assessing where the best place to sit would be. After a moment, he recognized a blonde head as the German he had met at the orientation. Ludwig, was it?

Next to him was an auburn-haired man, who was grumbling about something and eating a tomato as if it were a hand fruit. Well, that was odd. In any case, there was a free spot on the other side of Ludwig, so he made his way down and over to them.

"Pardon," He put on a polite smile as Ludwig and the other fellow looked up, a bit startled. Ludwig recognized him and heaved a great sigh of relief, "I was just wondering if I could sit here."

Ludwig nodded once, but the one eating the tomato furiously shook his head, "No way," was that an Italian accent? "You don't want to sit next to this dumb potato-eating bastard."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, but sat anyways, setting his bag down and then digging around for his laptop. When he resurfaced and the laptop was placed on the table in front of him along with his text book and a notebook, he finally questioned the odd words, "I see no problem with this seat. I'm sure I will be just fine. Besides, you're sitting next to him, aren't you?"

"I was here first!" He screeched, flailing his arms around a bit, "Then this dumbass came over here! I told him to fuck off, but he wouldn't listen!"

"I recognized you as Feliciano's brother, I just thought that—"

"Don't you talk about my brother, you dumb kraut! I don't know why he even wants to be your friend!"

"Mein gott…Romano, if I had known that you were going to be like this I would have left. I'll never understand how you two are related…" He frowned, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

Arthur merely frowned and raised an eyebrow. He hadn't meant to cause such an onslaught of words, but it seemed that this Romano fellow exploded at just about anything. Wonderful. Arthur was almost tempted to change his seat before his attention was drawn to a professor taking his place at the front of the room. A hush settled over the crowd of young students and even Romano was respectful enough to curse at Ludwig in small whispers.

The professor was quite tall and well built, a firmly muscled older man. His hair fell in brown curls and was a bit messy, but it framed a tanned and hardened face. It was warm and wise, but also weary. He had a bit of a smile on as he gave an introduction to the class. He introduced himself as Dr. Roma, and shortly after began talking and lecturing.

Arthur wasn't the best at taking notes or even at paying attention, that had been obvious since he began his school career. It wasn't that he didn't try or that he didn't enjoy listening, he just tended to drift off from time to time. Since he was young, he always had quite an imagination— he was always seeing fairies and elves and unicorns (and he would believe he saw them until the day he died, but no one had to know). His mother told him he'd grow out of it. He didn't really think he had.

So he was just drifting in and out, listening when he caught himself and discreetly reading off of Ludwig's organized and detailed notes when he didn't.

Romano was listening and taking notes, but still muttering horrible words and idle threats under his breath.

When Dr. Roma dismissed the class after a little more than an hour, Arthur stood and stretched a bit, checking his watch for the time. It was around 12, and he wasn't quite hungry yet. But his next class wasn't until 1:30, so he wandered out of the lecture room, Ludwig behind him (Romano had stormed off in some other direction, but Arthur hardly cared).

"Say, Ludwig, would you happen to know a tea shop around here? I could go for a good cup of tea." Arthur turned his head, both of them now walking down the sidewalk.''

Ludwig was thoughtful for a moment, "Yes, I think I saw a Starbuck's a couple of blocks down the road. As far as I know they serve fairly good tea."

Arthur hummed slightly; he never did like Starbucks—not the biggest coffee fan. But, if it was all he had to choose from, he would go there for now. He'd ask around a bit eventually and find a better place to get tea. He gave his thanks to Ludwig, who nodded back at him before he was attacked by someone who looked quite a lot like Romano.

"Ludwig! Ludwig!" He cried out happily, latching his arms around the taller man's waist, "I missed you! Romano said he was in the same class as you and he called you a bastard and said lots of mean things, and I tried hugging him because hugs make everything better, but he just yelled at me and ran off and then—"

"Feliciano. Stop. Please." The smaller man paused, letting go of Ludwig and looking slightly distraught, "If you are going to speak with me, please do so in a slow and orderly fashion so that I may actually _understand_ what you are trying to tell me."

The younger man began repeating his entire story, and Arthur shook his head, turning away to find the Starbucks Ludwig had been talking about. He was sure he would be formally introduced to this 'Feliciano' fellow sooner or later. Hopefully later; he seemed like an awfully loud and annoying man.

Arthur didn't need another one of those in his life.

After ten minutes, Arthur managed to find the store and made his way to the counter. He stuttered a moment as he gave his order when he swore he saw Alfred in the midst of a crowd of teenagers that passed by the wide windows in the storefront. By the time he ordered his tea and went to get a closer look, the group was already out of his view.

So he sighed to himself and sat in the café, taking small sips of his tea as he read his novel.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The second class of the day for Arthur was Economics. It wasn't a terribly exciting class, and Arthur didn't recognize anyone within the lecture hall. He ended up sitting next to a young-looking Chinese man who introduced himself as Yao. He was kind enough, but fairly quiet and paid attention to the professor (Who wasn't very interesting either—she was a middle-aged woman with a frail stature. She spoke loudly and forcefully, but her voice had a higher pitch and it sort of annoyed Arthur).

On the other side of him sat the girl he had met at the orientation. She kept sending him dirty looks throughout the entire lecture.

When the class let out, Arthur sighed. His first day of college was officially over. It hadn't been so bad, he mused, walking down the sidewalk. His professors were good enough and his classmates, the few he had met, seemed to take to him kindly (Well, sort of).

It was still early, and Arthur hadn't any plans for the evening, so he decided it was about time to get home. After all, he hadn't befriended anyone today (He would find some crowd to hang around with sometime relatively soon, he figured, he just hadn't gotten to it quite yet) so he hadn't anything to do.

He pulled out his cell, dialing Francis' number. He put it to his ear and walked off to the side so that he wouldn't be blocking anyone's path. After a moment, a pleasant female voice floated out from the phone and Arthur stared at it. The mechanic voice said something about a number being currently unavailable.

Arthur was certain he had dialed the right number. Just to be sure, he punched the buttons again, double checking them before he made the call. Again the flat voice came and Arthur hung up his phone, frustrated.

Blast that Frenchman, he couldn't even pick up his own bleeding phone. But, it was alright, Arthur reasoned. He would chastise him for it later. For the time being he could just hail a taxi. He was in a city, after all.

The only problem was that he had never actually done this before. He looked around a moment, staring at the various people. Someone would eventually try and get a taxi, all he would have to do was wait and then copy what they were doing.

So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Good god, How could no one in the vicinity try and hail a taxi in the span of twenty minutes? It was just so unlikely. He frowned at his surroundings, but figured it would be best to keep moving, since no one here seemed to be utilizing the transportation services.

After about ten minutes of walking, he finally noticed an older man standing on the street, holding his thumb out to the side. Arthur wasn't entirely sure that this was the right signal to use, but the man certainly seemed to be waiting for a ride so it must have been.

So Arthur stood by the side of the road and waited until he saw a taxi to put his thumb up. Surprisingly, the car didn't even slow down for him. He huffed, but then figured the car must have already been full.

He tried this quite a few times before growing frustrated. Maybe he wasn't doing it right. Perhaps there was another way to hail a taxi, or maybe this was just wrong altogether. He finally decided he would try it one more time, and if he hadn't gotten a taxi then he would just have to try something else. So he stood by the road again, his thumb sticking out.

This time, a dark blue pickup truck slowed down next to him. The larger tires on the vehicle raised it up so Arthur could just barely see through the glass. At first, he didn't recognize the driver and this worried him (as he was fairly certain a stranger in a large car pulling up next to you was never a very good sign in a city). He swallowed and tried to get a better look into the car when it pulled up and came to a stop.

Alfred?

The window rolled down and Alfred leaned over from his spot behind the driver's wheel. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his eyes and gave Arthur a puzzled look.

"Artie? What the hell are you doin'?" He questioned

The completely baffled tone in Alfred's voice threw Arthur off. He stammered a moment before letting out a weak reply, "…Hailing a taxi?" It came out as more of a question than an answer, for Arthur suddenly felt very unsure of his taxi-hailing methods.

A silence settled between the two of them for a split second, before a smile cracked on Alfred's face once more. Something clicked in his brain and he started laughing, "Artie, you ain't got any idea how to get a taxi, do ya?"

"W-well, no, I…I can't say I've ever done it before, but…but I saw someone else…and I just thought that this was the proper way to go about things." By this point in time Arthur's cheeks were burning from embarrassment. He had obviously made a horrible mistake of some sort.

Alfred laughed harder at this. When he finally stopped for air, he looked over at Arthur, "that was a sign for hitchhiking! You weren't asking a taxi to pick you up. C'mon, get in, I can drive ya anywhere you need to go. Lucky I stopped before some creep did." He ushered for Arthur to get inside.

"N-no, thank you though. I wouldn't want to trouble you. Just…tell me how to properly hail a taxi and I can be on my way."

"Naw, get in! I insist. I was just gonna head back home anyways." Alfred smiled at Arthur, who just about shook his head again. Before doing so, he thought about it a moment. Logically, this would be the best way to get home. It wouldn't inconvenience Alfred in any way, since they were both heading in the same direction and it wouldn't cost Arthur anything. The only bad part was that it was _Alfred_.

"…Well, alright then. I was just going to go home as well. Since you're being so kind as to offer, I suppose it would be rude for me to refuse." Arthur spoke decidedly, wrenching the door of the large vehicle open and climbing in, trying to stay as dignified as one could whilst getting into a pickup truck. He situated himself in the rather spacious grey seats, pulling the safety belt over and then sitting, his hands in his laps and his back straight.

Alfred only chuckled at this, "Why you headin' home so soon, Artie? Don't you got college stuff or, like, parties to get to?"

"Don't be daft, it is only the first day for me. I don't enjoy parties all that much anyways. I think a nice afternoon of relaxation would do me good."

"Not much of a social butterfly, are ya?"

"…No, not particularly. I've never seen the need." Arthur sighed slightly, looking out the window as he watched the various cars and people go by. It was odd to be looking out of the passenger side window and be seeing the sidewalk. Usually there was another lane of cars before that. _I'll never understand why these yanks have got their driving all backwards._

"Well, even if ya aren't, there ain't no sense in us both doin' nothin'! What do you say we go get lunch or somethin'?" Alfred smiled over at Arthur a moment before concentrating on getting back into the flow of cars on the street.

"Lunch? Well, I'm a bit peckish, I suppose. I wouldn't mind getting a bite to…" Arthur paused, slightly horrified at the words coming out of his own mouth (_I want to_ avoid _spending time with Alfred, not seek to do so!_), and shook his head, "No, no, I've plenty of food at home. What am I saying? I have better things to do…I mean, there's just…No."

"Great!" Alfred smiled, "We can stop at a McDonald's!"

"Wait, what? Did you even hear a word out of my mouth?" Arthur sputtered, looking over at Alfred in disbelief.

"Sure did. Y'all said you were hungry."

"…Your hearing is rather selective, isn't it?" with another sigh, Arthur turned to look out the window, "Well, if you're going to force me into another dining situation, could we at least go somewhere other than…McDonald's? Isn't that the horrible fast food chain that's the leading cause of obesity here in the states?"

"Naw, it's that awesome fast food chain that's the leading cause of deliciousness here in America." He looked around a moment, "Closest one's about ten minutes from here. Hey, have you ever even eaten at one before? Wouldn't think someone as posh as y'all would stop at one of these."

"I haven't." Arthur clicked his tongue, still looking out at the city around him, "I may have been near one once or twice when we had to stop at rest stops out of desperation during our travels. I won't eat anything if you drag me in there, you know. Their food has never seemed appealing to me in any way."

"Never had McDonald's?" Alfred took his eyes off the road for a moment to give Arthur the most flabbergasted and horrified stare he's ever seen. "That's sacrilege, Artie! Well damn, y'all are in America now! You gotta have McDonald's at least once; it's like…an American tradition! Can't believe it…never had McDonald's…that's like sayin' you haven't tried breathin' or something…"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. I suppose I can try a bite of it if you really insist. No harm in that…" _So long as it means you'll leave me be afterwards. If I don't go now, he's bound to kidnap me later and then Francis will have a fit and possibly call the police or my father and that just wouldn't be good._

_Or maybe you really do want to be friends with him,_ another part of Arthur's mind supplied. He promptly told that part to quit being ridiculous and to shut up. He had absolutely no desire to be friends with Alfred—he was an absolute twit, even if he was pretty much the first person to treat Arthur like he was just another person and not the son of one of the richest people in England. One of the first people to actually try and be friends with _him_. He hated to admit that he had a tendency to either bore people or just come off as too unapproachable.

Then again, Arthur didn't think that _anyone_ was unapproachable in Alfred's eyes.

"You'll love it, trust me." He was smiling that brilliant smile of his once more, but kept his eyes on the road as he turned the corner, making his way to a stoplight that had just turned red.

Arthur scoffed, but remained silent, looking out the window. Trust him? He had just met him, Arthur was fairly certain it took more than a few days to build up trust between two people. The git had to be joking, Arthur reasoned. He was just very bad at it.

Alfred made a few more attempts at conversation as Arthur merely responded with single word sentences or small hums of agreement (or disagreement, depending upon the context, of course). He was hardly put-off by the simple responses and seemed happy enough just to have Arthur responding with something. He didn't like silence, no, but at least it was a fairly comfortable one.

"Alright, Artie, we're here! Prepare to taste awesome in the form of a food. You gotta order a Big Mac, man, those things kick ass. Like, you'll be praisin' me for introducing you to such awesome food, really." Alfred was starting to prattle on about hamburgers now, and Arthur wasn't even aware someone could be so enthusiastic about something so dreadfully terrible.

"Yes, Alfred…" Arthur agreed nonchalantly, only half registering what Alfred was saying as he hopped down from the large pickup truck, dusting himself off and securing his messenger bag around his shoulder (hell if he was going to leave it in that shoddy American car- his laptop and textbooks were probably worth more than that car anyways). He walked to meet up with Alfred, who was impatiently tapping his work boots against the concrete sidewalk that led into the brick building with two golden arches atop its roof. Arthur grimaced at the symbols.

"Must we really eat here?" Arthur asked as the front doors were pushed open and the cold air that smelled of salt and—oh, so this was the restaurant that Alfred's room had smelled like—stale meat washed over the duo, who stepped into the relatively empty building. Alfred answered enthusiastically with a nod, looking back at Arthur with a smile momentarily.

There were several disgruntled teens working the registers, all holding relatively bored expressions, exchanging small talk with each other to pass the time. One straightened up as the two approached, facing them with a horribly strained smile.

"Howdy, welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?" The young girl spoke, voice thinly veiled with enthusiasm. She was twirling her brown hair with one finger, the other hand lying on her hip.

"Yes you may!" Alfred looked down from the menu to her, shooting her that winning smile, "I'll take a double order of Big Macs, large fries, large coke and a vanilla McFlurry!"

She looked a tad concerned for the boy, hoping that he wasn't going to be eating all of that food by himself. She almost ignored Arthur, figuring they would be splitting a meal of that size, but Arthur quickly interjected, "I'll have…just a cheeseburger and a salad…oh, water, too please."

She gave a short nod, "Will that be all?" She asked, making sure this time, hand hovering above the cash register after she punched in a few numbers.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, "Yeah, I'd say so, for now anyways!" He gave a charming smile at the girl's almost distraught face.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, awaiting the arrival of their orders. When the two trays arrived, they both glanced at them for a moment. The size difference in the orders was very evident, and they were both thinking the amount of food the other ordered was absurd, but neither said this out loud as Alfred led them to a booth, practically drooling at the sight of his favorite food.

Arthur tried desperately not to make a face of disgust at the burger and salad (He could practically see the grease soaking through its wrapping and from the looks of it the salad had low quality vegetables that probably weren't fresh), finding that would be very impolite, especially in a public establishment, and especially because Alfred was treating him.

As soon as they sat down, Alfred dug into his meal, eating a whole burger in the time it took Arthur to unwrap his and stare at it. His mouth couldn't help but turn to a frown.

"Hey Artie, you're supposed to eat the food, ya know. Won't do ya any good if you just sit there lookin' at it all day." Alfred laughed, peeling the wrapper off of his next burger in a slower fashion, obviously taking his time on the second one.

"I know that." Arthur huffed, looking up at Alfred with a scowl, "I'll be back in a moment, I'm going to get a fork and knife." He pushed himself from the table, the chair making a horrible screech as he did so. He winced slightly, hating the sound, but stood anyways.

Until a hand wrapped around his arm and forcibly sat him back down on the chair, almost knocking him over and causing him to give a short (dignified, and absolutely _not_ girlish) yelp of surprise. He looked over at Alfred, who was still leaned over the table slightly, holding his arm.

"What…what in the name of the Queen did you do_ that_ for?" Arthur asked after a moment, anger bubbling up at Alfred's motions.

"You don't eat a burger with utensils." Alfred punctuated each word of his sentence, as if speaking to a small child. His lips were still twitched upward, ever so slightly, amused by all of this (which, of course, angered Arthur even further).

"And you, Alfred, are not in a position to tell me what I may or may not do." Arthur shook his arm free finally, and glared at the younger man before him. He hated that Alfred was so much stronger than him, physically, and it didn't help that the boy seemed to think things should always be done _his_ way.

"I'm the one treating, ain't I?" Alfred cracked that smile, the atmosphere losing any tension, "Come on, y'all should just try eating it with your hands. It's in a bun for a reason! Here," Alfred picked up his own burger and took a bite out of it, continuing his speech immediately, "you eat it like that!"

Arthur shook his head, "Firstly, don't talk with your mouth full, it is disgusting and rude. Secondly, I needn't eat this atrocity with my hands, it will taste the same any way I take a bite. If you don't mind, I'd like to at least make this experience as enjoyable as I can, if that is at all possible."

"Try it," Alfred said, in that persistent, hopeful, and utterly annoying tone of voice, "I'll bet you'll like it."

There was just something about Alfred's voice that was convincing and perhaps reassuring, Arthur couldn't place it. He couldn't place it mainly because he didn't realize it himself, but he bit his lower lip for a moment, hesitating a few seconds too long in his rebuttal, and Alfred spoke again before he even got the chance

"C'mon, Artie, what've you got to lose?" Alfred was still smiling, chewing his burger between words. Disgusting.

"My health, for one," Arthur mumbled, resolve finally cracking as he picked up the burger in front of him, holding it before his mouth before finally taking a bite of the food. He chewed it thoughtfully and swallowed.

_That was horrid_, Arthur wanted to spit out, _My god, people actually…people actually eat this? Goodness, the things people can actually sell to people, just because it's fast and convenient. I don't think I've ever had anything this awful in my life _(that wasn't entirely true; he was fairly certain the snails he had in France when he was younger were the worst things he had ever eaten).

Arthur didn't say any of this, however, and simply set the burger down, taking a drink from his water bottle quickly, trying to wash away the taste of salt and meat and fake cheese and soggy lettuce. It didn't work, which distressed Arthur greatly.

"Did'ya like it?"

Arthur paused, looking off to the side, "It's not…particularly to my tastes."

"…What do ya mean?" Alfred questioned, looking as though Arthur had something completely nonsensical.

Arthur coughed slightly, taking another drink from his water bottle and then folding his hands politely on his lap, "I said it isn't a food that I, personally, would ever eat again." At this, Alfred looked a bit hurt (and terribly, terribly confused; _how could anyone dislike McDonalds?_). Not entirely sure why, Arthur quickly spoke again, "You're welcome to my food, I'm not terribly hungry" _Not for this, at least…_

At this, Alfred brightened. He quickly leaned over and grabbed the burger in front of Arthur, immediately taking it to his mouth to chow down. Arthur almost felt himself smile, relieved. Relieved that Alfred wasn't upset—Only because, if he was, he was sure to try and convince Arthur to enjoy the wonders of the disgusting fast food. Of course that was the only reason.

Not that it really stopped Alfred from trying to convince Arthur anyways.

"Oughtta try a fry, at least." And suddenly, there was a yellow french fry hovering in front of Arthur's face, which shocked him and caused him to push back in his seat, swatting at the offending food item. Alfred was persistent, though, and smiled as he continued to shove the fry in front of Arthur's mouth.

In return Arthur sputtered indignantly, grabbing Alfred's hand to keep it out of his face, "Alfred! Where on Earth were you when they were handing out tact and decency? Get that bloody thing away from me, I don't want any! For goodness sake, you're just—"

Alfred took his hand back from Arthur's grip effortlessly and managed to shove the fry into Arthur's open mouth, which had previously been occupied with ranting. Currently, Arthur was much more occupied with looking shocked and mortified by the younger man's actions. Alfred just laughed.

Of course, Arthur snapped out of it at that, and finished chewing his food before he began his tirade of insults, keeping his voice down only because he was, after all, still in public. He wouldn't let Alfred get the best of him and _completely_ ruin his proper exterior. When he ran out of things to say about how Alfred was insufferable, he huffed and crossed his arms and sent the best glare he could manage across the table.

"Finished?" Alfred smiled good naturedly, as if he _hadn't _just done something so publicly unacceptable, "Shoot, Artie, never guessed you'd get so worked up over a _french fry_."

"It wasn't the chip, er…French fry, you twat!" Arthur exploded again, hands flying to the table, "It was the fact that you shoved it in my face! And then shoved it in my mouth! That's just not socially acceptable, proper, or normal!"

"…Why not? Just a fry; ain't gonna hurt no one."

"But…" Arthur stuttered, anger dissipating to disbelief as he glanced over Alfred's face. He was still smiling slightly, yes, but he was obviously being _serious_. "Well, how would you like it if someone tried to force-feed you a chip?"

"Wouldn't mind; I'd just eat it." He flashed Arthur a toothy grin this time.

There was a silence a moment before Arthur heaved a heavy sigh, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. _I give up. Logic just goes in one ear and out the other with this man…_

"Let's just go, shall we?" he finally groaned out, bringing his head back up to face Alfred.

"But y'all haven't tried the McFlurry yet!" Arthur soon found a spoonful of said product being pushed in his face. He promptly damned propriety, shoved the spoon back in Alfred's face, stood up and stormed outside of the building to wait by the car.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Master Kirkland!" He heard Veronique cry through the home's speaker system that was hooked up to the one at the gate, "You're home? But…France is still here, how did—"

"That bloody French bastard is home!" Arthur yelled, his usual self-control of his temper gone from having spent an afternoon with Alfred, "put him on—no, let me in first, I want to speak with him face to face."

Veronique merely squeaked a small noise of approval, obviously a bit unnerved by the angry tone in Arthur's voice, before the great iron doors opened. Arthur walked past them quickly, going up the relatively long driveway until he reached the front doors, which he threw open.

"Francis!"

"O-oui, Monsieur?" Francis appeared from behind the large marble staircase, a cleaning cloth in his hands and a terrified yet horribly confused look on his face.

Arthur crossed his arms and looked up at the taller man, trying to seem authoritative, "Don't 'oui, monsieur?' me! Why on earth didn't you pick up your phone when I tried calling earlier? I almost had to take a taxi!"

Francis looked at him for a moment, puzzled, "Mais…no one has tried to call my phone all day; it has not rung…" he paused mid-sentence, taking the small flip-phone out of his pocket and staring at the dark screen for a moment, "Oh…je suis desole Monsieur, my phone must have run out of charge a while ago and I did not realize it."

"Well, consider yourself lucky that I was able to get a ride home with Alfred, otherwise I don't know what I would be doing right now." _Probably still trying to hitchhike on the side of the street…_

"Oui, I understand, I promise it shall not happen again, it was an absolutely idiotic move on my part and— …hold on, I thought you said you got a ride home with a taxi, non?" Francis lowered his eyebrows suspiciously at Arthur, the smallest of smirks quirking on his lips.

"Well, I…I was going to, but…something came up and Alfred saw me and offered me a ride home after class, that's all."

"That's all? Your classes ended at two thirty."

"…What of it?"

"It is nearly five, Monsieur."

Arthur frowned at Francis' suggestive comment, suppressing a shudder when he waggled his eyebrows and said something about how he could 'always sense when there was something going on'.

"_Nothing_," Arthur emphasized as he walked past Francis, only stopping to glare at him, "is going on. I'd suggest you quit it with those indicative remarks of yours if you'd like to keep your job, _oui_?"

Francis chuckled, folding his arms over his chest as he smiled softly at the back turned to him, "Oui, Monsieur." He wanted very badly to make some other remark, but he held his, tongue; if Arthur took after his father as much as he seemed to, he knew well that he did not make idle threats as such. So he merely shook his head at the figure retreating to the kitchen, knowing in his head that, obviously, something was up—not necessarily romantic, of course, but at least Arthur was making a friend.

_Alfred will be good for him, I am sure_, Francis mused, walking back to the living room to put away his cleaning supplies for the night.

* * *

That's all I've got for you for now~ Hope you enjoyed Arthur and Alfred's little fail date there...fun to write.

Please review, they are greatly appreciated and boost this author's ego!


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